Favors
by Diddlee
Summary: Finally Updated. Chapter 8 is now an actual chapter. As Tristan and Rory's friendship grows, Tristan finds himself in need of a Favor
1. Request

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Disclaimer: As usual, not mine.

Feedback: Much appreciated.

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Part 1

Tristan rolled to his side, forcefully rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His arm flew out, fumbling in the darkness, searching for his clock. Finding the clock, he pulled it within inches of his eyes trying to make out the numbers. In so doing, he stretched the cord until the prongs bent, and finally the plug fell from the outlet.

"Dammit," he uttered, throwing the clock back to the nightstand.

He laid on his back, arms spread to the side, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the dimly lit room. Satisfied that he could now see, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and reached out to steady himself as he stood. He made his way across the room to the adjoining bathroom.

Flipping on the light, he shielded his eyes from the brightness, glancing at the clock on wall facing the shower. A few minutes after 4. He rolled his eyes, letting out a slight sigh at the realization that he still had 2 hours before it was time to get ready for school.

He turned the handle on the faucet, letting the cool stream flow through his fingers. Lowering his head, he splashed water on his face, running a wet hand through his tousled hair. He grabbed the nearest towel, covering his face, pressing his face deeper into the cloth. A few seconds passed as he held his face in his hands. He patted the droplets from his hair, wadded up the towel, and threw it across the room. It rattled the hamper as it hit the side, bouncing off and ending in a damp heap on the tiled floor.

Tristan watched the water pool at the bottom of the sink, momentarily pausing before escaping through the drain. He looked up, meeting his own stare in the mirror. Placing his hands on either side of the sink, he leaned forward, examining his face.

"What is wrong with you, DuGrey," he muttered, searching his own eyes for the answer. 

His eyes moved over each feature, shaking his head at what he saw. What exactly did the girls see in him? He had pondered that question many times, never arriving at a satisfying answer. His looks certainly helped him in the dating department, but his beauty was only skin deep. Most of his relationships ended fairly quickly, out of fear that they would discover that there was nothing underneath his attractive exterior. He exuded an air of confidence, but he knew that he was only hiding his own emptiness.

He had no close friendships, no close relationships, fearing that someone would find out his secret and reveal him to the world. He never let anyone see the real person. That Tristan was standing in his bathroom at 4 in the morning, wearing only his flannel pajama bottoms. Staring himself down in the mirror, looking for one quality that he was proud of, finding none.

A year ago, his life was enough. The girls, the money, the popularity. He was tired of this game. Tired of this facade. He no longer wanted to keep up the charade. What had changed in that short year?

She had entered his life. 

At first she was a challenge, another conquest on the long list of his prey. But she had become more. He had watched her reject his advances, holding her own with the bright students at Chilton. In a school filled with fake personas, she was real. She didn't care what people thought, didn't seek popularity to justify who she was. She was more than just a pretty girl.

For the first time he found himself falling for a girl. She deserved someone who was honest, who wouldn't hurt her or parade her around as a trophy. None of which described Tristan. But he was changing that. He was determined that it was time to let someone in. Time to open himself up to possibility of being hurt. 

She was the one.

He turned out the light and retraced his steps to his bed. Pushing the covers aside, he climbed in, leaned across the nightstand, and plugged in his alarm clock. He fiddled with the buttons until he set an approximate time. Setting the alarm for a few hours later, he laid on his back, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Thinking of what he had to do that day, he searched his thoughts for the best words convey his request. Lost in thought, his eyelids became heavier as he drifted off to sleep.

________________________________________________________________________

Tristan shut the door to his car, slung his bookbag over his shoulder, and jogged across the parking lot. It was Wednesday morning and he was running late, intentionally. Today was one of those days he wanted as little contact as possible with the other students at Chilton. Strategically arriving late prevented him from participating in the meaningless chatter in the hallways before class. 

He quickly moved through the hallway, briefly stopping at his locker to get his books for his first period. He entered the back of the room, sliding into the only available seat just as the morning announcements were finishing.

"Nice of you to join us Mr. DuGrey. To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Medina. It won't happen again," he replied quickly.

"Well, you can apologize all you want while you keep me company after school."

"Yes, Mr. Medina," Tristan obediently responded. He had been through this whole ordeal before. He was glad Mr. Medina used this informal form of detention, rather than marking up his file. 

Tristan slouched down in his chair as Mr. Medina began that day's lecture. He jotted down a few important phrases while sneaking in a few looks at Rory. She was two rows over and a few seats up, and she was intently focused on the subject at hand. He admired her ability to completely lose herself in a topic. He imperceptibly shook his head, and returned to the task of taking notes.

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Rory stood in front of her locker, debating which books to take for finals preparation. With the upcoming finals, she had decided to spend a little extra time after school studying. Luckily for her, the bus to Stars Hollow ran every hour, allowing her spend some quality time alone with her work. It was so much easier to study when she was still in school mode. After much contemplation, she settled on her government book, placing it in her bag, and discarding the others into their neatly arranged order in the back of the locker. 

She started down the hallway, heading for her favorite study spot. Something caught her eye, stopping her in her tracks. She backed up a few steps, paused momentarily, and then opened the door to the classroom.

"Mr. Medina would never make a good prison guard," she said mockingly, glancing around at the empty classroom.

From her stance behind him, she couldn't see the smile spread across his face at the sound of her voice. In the month or so since Madeline's party, Rory had seemed to overcome the awkwardness of their kiss. They were actually on civil speaking terms, and forming, dare he say, a friendship. Regaining his composure, he turned in his seat to face her.

"Well, I got credit for good behavior, and with that come perks such unsupervised recreation. I didn't realize he was letting me have conjugal visits too," Tristan said, with a teasing grin.

He watched her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink at his innuendo of sex. He changed the subject quickly, before she could dwell on that statement.

"Aren't you going to miss your bus?"

Rory was glad he changed the subject. She couldn't control the blush that was spreading over her cheeks when she thought of Tristan in that way. 

"No, I'm staying late to prepare for finals. The environment at home is not really conducive to studying when my mother is there. Something about my mother and finals. She's always wanting me to join her in a game of Clue or Candyland. The worst was when she made me play Twister and then we spent 2 hours in the emergency room x-raying her ankle. If the final had been in anatomy, I would have aced it."

'You probably aced it anyway though."

Her silence confirmed his guess.

"Well, I better go before Mr. Medina finds me fraternizing with the inmates. I wouldn't want him to think that any of your criminal ways were rubbing off on me." She grabbed her bag from where she had dropped it at her feet, and headed for the door.

"Hey Rory," Tristan stopped her before she left. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask, but I'm not guaranteeing I'll answer," she said as she turned to face him.

"We're, uh, friends now..., right?", he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I guess, at least in the loose sense of the word," she replied with a questioning look, wondering where this conversation was going.

"And friends do things for other friends right?"

Rory felt like she was blindfolded heading down an unknown path. "Sure, I guess."

"Well I have a favor to ask of you."

She remained silent, waiting for his proposal.

"Well, you see, my cousin is getting married in a few weeks, and while I got out of being a groomsman, my mother won't let me get out of the wedding entirely. And it's one of those weddings where you need a date. And since I've been avoiding the whole dating scene for a while, I don't really have anyone that I would want to ask. Or at least, there's no one I want meeting my family, as weird as they are, and I was hoping that you would accompany me." Tristan finished rambling.

Rory looked at him for a second. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Tristan took it as a good sign that she hadn't flat out denied him already. "No, not a date. It's just a wedding. Completely platonic. I swear," he added when she gave him a skeptical look.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, given our history."

"Please Rory," he pleaded. "I'll owe you one."

The sincerity in his voice led Rory to reconsider. She wavered a few moments longer. "I don't have anything to wear," she said honestly.

"I'll take care of it," he replied.

"You're not buying..."

"I'll take care of it," he said more adamantly, cutting off her protests.

Rory searched her mind for another reason why she couldn't go. "Is it here in Hartford?"

"No, it's about 2 hours from here."

"I'm not sure my mother will let me," she said, playing the overprotective parent card.

"I'll give her my cell phone, my parents' cell phones, and the reception hall phone numbers. She'll be able to reach us by phone, fax, or page all night long."

Rory was running out of excuses. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was beginning to think that this might be fun. She hadn't been to a wedding in a long time, and she had never been to a formal wedding before. She pondered for a few moments, and made her decision.

"Is there going to be dancing? Cause if there's dancing, I'll have to remember to take my dance card to keep all the suitors straight."

Tristan smiled, elated that she was accepting his offer. "As long as you reserve a spot on that card for me."

"Deal," she said, returning his smile.

With that, she turned and exited the room.

Watching her go, Tristan let out the breath he had been holding for the last few minutes. Though he had asked out many girls, many times, nothing was as nerve-wracking as that encounter. But he had succeeded. Rory was going to be his date to this wedding. Completely platonic of course.

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Since the wedding was closer to Hartford than to Stars Hollow, they had agreed that Tristan would pick her up at her grandparents' house at around 5. Rory decided to spend that Friday night with her grandparents in the room they had designed for her. Tristan promised that everything she needed would be there sometime Saturday afternoon. Rory was anxious to see what she would be wearing. She wondered how Tristan would get a dress, and hoped that he had found somewhere to rent, or at least where it could be returned.

Rory looked up from her studying when she heard a light knock on the door.

"Come in."

She moved to a seated position and watched her grandmother bring in garment bag and a shopping bag. Emily was smiling from ear to ear. She was thrilled that Rory was attending a social function with a member of the DuGrey family. The DuGreys were wealthy, and she considered them to be one of the finest families in Hartford. 

"Thanks Grandma," Rory feigned interest in her studies. Truthfully, she was dying to see what was in those bags.

"Are you going to open them or not?", Emily asked, anxious to see what Rory would be wearing.

"I don't want you to see it before I get a chance to try it on. If you wait for the whole ensemble, I'm sure it will be much more exciting."

Emily tried to hide her disappointment, but respected Rory's wishes. "Well then, I'll leave you to your studying and see you when you're dressed. Let me know if you need anything," she requested as she closed the door.

Rory waited until she heard her footsteps retreat down the hall, then rushed over to where Emily had placed the bags. She went first for the garment bag, carefully unzipping it so as not to catch the fabric. She removed the outer covering, and took a step back.

Her jaw dropped. She stood there with her mouth wide open, gaping at what she saw.

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Rory leaned into the mirror, fussing with one strand of hair, trying to get it to fall into place. She had decided on a style with her hair down, with big loose curls falling down her back. Finally satisfied with her hair, she took a step back to look at the whole image.

She couldn't believe how she looked. The dress Tristan had sent over was one of those dresses that she admired on the rack, but would never have the guts to buy for herself. It was a two piece formal dress, in the deepest shade of red that brought out subtle reddish highlights in her hair. The top had wide straps that went straight over her shoulders meeting the square neckline. The back dipped low enough to show her shoulder blades, but not too low to be considered immodest. The matching skirt began about an inch below the top, perfectly fitting her slim waist and gradually widening all the way to the bottom, just above her perfectly dyed shoes. She self-consciously crossed her arm over her bare midriff, admiring the shoes with their broad-based chunk heel. Elegant, yet practical. There was even a small matching handbag to complete the look. 

She smiled at herself in the mirror. Hearing the doorbell downstairs, she quickly gave herself the once-over, searched through the handbag seeing that she had everything she needed, and took a deep breath.

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Tristan firmly pressed the doorbell with his shaking hand. 

"Breathe DuGrey. In. Out.", he coached himself.

The door swung open, revealing a very happy woman. Her wide smiled eased his nerves a bit.

"Hello, Mrs. Gilmore. I'm Tristan DuGrey." He hoped she didn't hear the slight shaking in his voice.

"Nice to meet you Tristan. Won't you come in," she motioned with her arm. "Rory should be down in a few minutes. Richard, come meet Rory's date," Emily said into the adjoining room.

Tristan distractedly participated in the exchanging of formalities. He was used to these brief exchanges having attended many of his grandparents formal parties. Every few seconds or so, his eyes flashed to the stairway, in search of Rory. His movements didn't go unnoticed. He didn't see Emily softly nudge Richard, nor did he see their smiles widen each time his eyes flew to the stairway.

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Rory stood at the top of the stairs, out of sight from the people below. Her grandmother insisted that she keep Tristan waiting a few minutes, regardless if she was ready or not. She heard their voices trail up the stairway, as Tristan described his father's business to her grandfather. 

Deciding she had waited long enough, she lifted the front of her skirt, and started down the stairs. 

She was a few steps from the top when Tristan saw her. Emily could tell from his reaction that Rory must be on her way down. She turned around to see her granddaughter descending the stairs. 

Rory was looking down, making sure she didn't trip over the hem of her dress. Satisfied that she was progressing well, she looked up, her eyes immediately meeting Tristan's. She held back a giggle at the expression on his face. Other than the dance, he had never seen her dressed up. And she knew she looked a lot better in this getup than in the dreaded blue plaid of her Chilton uniform. 

"Rory!", her grandmother exclaimed. "You look absolutely amazing." Richard echoed Emily's praises. 

Tristan didn't say a word. He couldn't.

Rory went over the instructions, assuring her grandparents of the location, the phone numbers, and every other detail they demanded. The bartered on a curfew, finally agreeing on a time that would allow for the driving distance. 

"Bye Grandma. Bye Grandpa." Tristan couldn't take his eyes off of her as she hugged her grandparents goodbye. 

He followed her through the door, hearing it shut behind them. Still not having said a word, he watched the evening breeze tousle her hair. 

"You look stunning," he said, almost in a whisper.

She turned to face him. "Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I feel like Cinderella."

She watched a smile spread to his lips. "I guess that makes me Prince Charming." He was standing there in a jet-black tuxedo, that evidently was his own. It fit his broad shoulders perfectly, and it was obviously not rented at one of the cheap prom stores down the street. 

"I was thinking more like my Fairy Godmother," she returned his smile. "You know, the whole dress and shoes and all."

"That reminds me. I forgot to send this over earlier." He reached into a inner pocket on his tuxedo, pulling out a narrow box. He opened it, took out a piece of jewelry, and returned the box to his coat pocket. He held out his hand, opening so she could see what it was. "This is to complete the look."

Rory gawked at the necklace he held in his hand. It was a silver strand sprinkled with glistening rubies and diamonds. She reached out her hand running her fingers over the jewels.

"Tristan... I can't." she uttered, knowing the necklace cost a fortune.

"Don't worry. It's on loan. My mother let me borrow it for tonight," he lied. He knew he would never convince her to wear it if she knew he had spent hours in the jewelry store this afternoon picking it out. He had picked out the dress, the shoes, and the handbag, but hadn't expected that she would look this radiant in the ensemble. He lightly grasped her shoulder, turning her around. She held up mass of hair, giving him access to her neck. He shut his eyes momentarily as he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, perfume, and whatever else she was wearing. He gently placed the necklace around her neck, closing the clasp. 

Rory released her hair, letting it cascade down her back. She turned to face him, with one hand protectively guarding the necklace. 

Tristan grinned. He made a swooping motion with his arm, slightly bending at the waist, and lowering his head. 

"Your carriage awaits, Ms. Gilmore."

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End Part 1


	2. Humiliation

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Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Yadda Yadda. The words used in this part are to a song called "If I'm Not In Love with You" sang by Faith Hill

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Part 2

"It's not going to fall off."

"What? Oh. I know. I didn't think it would."

"Well you've had that thing in a death grip since I put it around your neck." Tristan briefly removed his eyes from the road, looking over at Rory in the passenger's seat. 

Rory reluctantly removed her hand from it's protective position over the necklace, cautiously letting it fall into her lap. She nervously tugged at the fabric around her stomach, crossing and recrossing her arms over her bare midriff. Shifting in her seat, she turned her head slightly, focusing her gaze out the window at the passing scenery. 

Silence lingered in the car as Rory watched the sun set over the Connecticut sky. With Tristan intently focused on his driving, she let her thoughts wander back to the circumstances which put her here. She was on her way to a wedding, of which she did not know any of the parties involved. Nevertheless, here she sat in a car, with Tristan of all people, wearing an expensive dress, paid for by him, and a necklace that was worth more than she would make at her summer job this year. 

Tristan fixed his gaze on the taillights of the car in front of them. He had learned long ago that he needed a focal point that didn't involve that beautiful smile or those shining eyes. Focusing on either of those would truly lead to his demise. Every so often, he allowed himself to steal a quick glance at the goddess beside him. Everything about her was perfect. Though she was completely stunning in the dress, he knew she was just as beautiful in an old t-shirt and shorts. And that's what made his heart skip a beat every time he looked at her. He studied her features in the reflection of the window. Everything he never knew he wanted, never knew he needed was wrapped up in this one girl.

Tristan was unaware Rory had been watching him through the reflection of the glass. She hid a smile every time he cast his gaze upon her, thinking she couldn't see him give her the once over. Tristan's eyes wandered off the road again, this time catching her eye in the window. Rory couldn't help but smile, letting him know she was aware of his actions. He returned her smile, nonchalantly turning his eyes back to the road. Not ashamed that she knew he had been staring at her.

Rory positioned herself so that she was leaning against the door of the car, slightly facing him. She watched him for a few seconds, accepting her turn to take in his features. He really did look good tonight. The dark black of the suit set off his blond tresses of hair. His bow tie dangled from his neck, having loosened it upon getting in the car. She ran her eyes over his profile, noting the grin on his face. He too knew she was looking at him, and clearly, he was enjoying every second. 

The car ride had been almost completely silent thus far. Not an awkward silence, but more the comfortable silence of two people who were satisfied just to be in the same vicinity with one another. 

"Tristan?"

The sound of his name on her lips sent his heart racing. He loved the sound of her voice, but her voice saying his name was enough to make him weak. "Yeah," he replied, keeping his focus on his driving.

"Why me?", Rory asked curiously.

"Why you what?", he responded puzzled.

"Of all people, why did you ask me to go with you to your cousin's wedding?"

It was an honest question. One that she probably deserved the answer to. Though he doubted very mush she would like the answer just yet. In his typical fashion, he avoided making any sort of actual explanation.

"Oops. Did I tell you this was my cousin's wedding?", he countered, a devious smile crossing his lips. "Silly me. I meant to say this is our wedding. It would seem odd for me to bring someone else don't you think.

"Tristan," her voice was tinged with a little exasperation, some pleading, and he was certain, some amusement.

"Oh wait. I guess I didn't go about this properly. This is a little awkward since I can't get down on one knee while driving, but here goes. Rory Gilmore, will you"

"Stop Don't finish that sentence." Her forceful plea halting his joking proposition. 

"Well, if you want to answer 'yes' before I get the chance to finish, then I guess that's your right. We seem to be breaking the rules anyway," he teased, casting her a sideways glance.

"I only want to hear those words once in my life, and I want the person to be serious when asking them. Marriage proposals are serious things."

Tristan was surprised at her conviction on this subject. And a little curious. In the back of his mind, a thought started creeping into his mind. He was imagining a day when he could be the one to ask her, in complete seriousness. 

He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of that thought. He was only sixteen. Did this girl have that much power over him that he'd be thinking thoughts of marriage now. He knew that what he was feeling was stronger than any other way he thought about any girl. But, thoughts of proposals. That was just too much.

"Well if that's the way you want to be. I guess I'll just have to wait till you're ready to let me complete that question in its entirety." His trademark smirk hid the honesty of that statement.

Changing the subject, she reintroduced her question. "So why me?"

He avoided her question again. "Simple. Because I am completely and madly in love with you. I still wake up screaming your name, wanting to hold you every second of every day, to kiss you senseless"

"Tristan, you are so juvenile," she scolded, but there was no real malice in her voice.

His continued professions of undying love drowning out the sound of her rebuke.. 

***************************************************************

"It says to go North on Grant."

"I am going North."

"No you're not. You're going South," Rory countered.

Tristan's frustrations were beginning to show in his tightly clenched response. "I was heading East, made a left, and now we're going North."

Rory responded in kind. "We _were_ heading East until you turned _North_ on 22nd, and then _West _onto Oak. So when you made that last left, you pointed us in the _Southern_ direction. Which is precisely the direction we are currently traveling." The sarcasm and inflection of her voice betrayed what little confidence she had in his driving ability.

The majority of the car ride up to this point had been spent in companionable silence. A few comments on the passing scenery mixed with sparse comments on the impending thunderstorm. For the most part, they resigned themselves to the pleasant camaraderie of the quit car. Until now. About 20 minutes ago, they crossed into the city limits, thus necessitating the use of directions. Tristan had quickly copied a set of directions from the wedding invitation, which he mistakenly left on the dresser in his bedroom. The chicken scratch that was his handwriting was barely legible to Rory's eyes. As she attempted to navigate their journey, the tension between them grew, peaking at their current predicament.

What little control he had over his irritation was fleeting quickly. "How can I be heading South when Grant is a one way heading North?"

"Well, if we were on Grant we'd be heading North. But we're not. We're on Gray."

Tristan rolled the car to a stop at the light. He craned his neck to read the letters on the perpendicular street sign, verifying what she had said. He uttered a mild swear word at the realization she was right.

"Now are you ready to listen to me?" Her tone of voice had lost the edge that carried her through this argument.

"I _have_ been listening to you. That's how we ended up here." He motioned with a wide arc of his arm, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Exasperatedly, he sighed.

"Are you trying to blame this on me?" The frustration and indignation returned once again.

"You're the one holding the directions."

"Well if you could learn to write half as clearly as a second grader, perhaps I could actually read the directions."

Tristan hit the accelerator at the moment the light switched to green, lurching the car into motion. A few blocks later, he resigned himself to their situation. His voice lowered considerably from their previous rantings. "We're lost."

Rory shot him a sideways look. "Well at least we agree on that." She sat determined, arms crossed over her stomach in resentment. He could be so infuriating. 

His mind started to race, thinking of a way to get them out of this mess. They were in a strange city, and even if they had the directions, they most likely still couldn't make it out with both of them alive. Their confrontation had driven them both to the edge. Rory's checks were red at her controlled anger. Tristan's frustration resulted in verbal lashings, placing the blame anywhere but himself. It wasn't the worst fight he'd ever had with a girl. But this one hurt worse. This time he had said those words to a person he truly cared about. And she had came back at him with her own words. He took a deep breath, determined to gain back the restraint over his emotions. He was finding that more and more difficult to do when it concerned her. She made him feel things he never felt before. Feel deeper than he ever thought he could. 

"Hey, what street does it say the church is on?" 

"Lafayette."

Tristan stifled a short laugh, the sound escaping in a hmph. "Well then that would be the church."

Rory's eyes followed the direction he was pointing. She noted the crowd of people gathered at the entrance. It was indeed a church. And a beautiful church at that. The tall columns of glass accentuated the dark stone walls of the ancient Cathedral. The vast wooden doors swung out from under the unique arched doorways. She couldn't help but to think that it reminded her of something she had seen in a painting. Perfect. Ideal. Fascinating.

Tristan turned the car into a crowded lot, seizing the first open space. He angled the car into the space, and put it in part. He turned the key in the ignition, casting a deafening silence over the interior. Moments of silence passed as they each sat unmoving in the car. The awkwardness of the moment did not go unnoticed as they both attempted to move past their spat. Neither wanted to apologize, frankly because there wasn't really anything to apologize for. They had let their emotions get the best of them, which happened so frequently when she was with him.

Tristan was the first to speak. "We took the scenic route."

Rory turned to face him. The usual smirk had replaced the tight expression on his face. His mild attempt at humor was so Tristan. When you can't beat em, make em laugh. She let out a short laugh, thankful of his ability to diffuse the tension between them. His words were intended to make her smile, but she knew deep down he was apologizing. Even though he couldn't say so in so many words. Somehow he could always make her forget that a few minutes ago, she was weighing the various methods to sink his body in the river.

"And what scene would that be? The tragic death sequence of Romeo and Juliet?" Her play on words revealing her assessment of the situation. They had been at each others throats. 

Rory reached for the door handle. She opened the door wide, to accommodate the vast amounts of fabric in her skirt. She gathered her skirt in one hand, careful not to tear or stain it with the greased hinges on the door. By the time she had gained her composure to disembark from the car, Tristan had made his way around to her side of the car. He stretched out his hand to assist her. She took the offered hand, inwardly jumping at the electricity of his touch. Her hand in his she paused from her movement, her gaze immediately locking on his. 

She couldn't identify the source of the butterflies in her stomach, but she recognized the loud beating of her heart as it quickened its pace. She searched his face for some recognition that he had been affected the same way. His expressionless face was betrayed in his eyes. She could see it there. The anger of a few minutes ago had been replaced with a warm, admiring look. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew he had a thing for her. His obvious overtures had a first been an annoyance, then an accepted part of her daily routine. But somewhere along the way, his intentions had changed. At first, she knew he was playing the game. She was simply the next on his list of conquests, preparing to check her off the list. She stood her ground, not caving to his attempts to gain her admiration like so many others had. She noticed a change in him. And somewhere deep down, she knew this wasn't a game. If it was, she wouldn't have kept his attention this long. He would have simply moved on to an easier target. But he hadn't. In the four months since she met him, he failed to turn his intentions elsewhere. Of course, there had been that brief stint with Summer. But even with her, he wasn't playing the game. What scared her the most was not the way he felt about her. Rather it was the way she felt about him. She was starting to have a thing for him too.

Realizing she had been staring into his eyes for some time, she quickly broke the gaze, removing herself from the car. 

Tristan took her hand, placing it on the inner fold of his arm. He escorted her across the lot, weaving in and out of the expensive cars of the guests. The place where she held his arm felt like it was on fire. The heavy fabric of his tux coat could do little to dull the sensation that occurred because of her touch. She had looked into his eyes with such wonder, curiosity, and what he hoped was an inkling of infatuation. She was slowly letting down the wall that closed him off from her. The possibility that the wall would one day be broken down was enough to keep his eyes on the goal. They had yelled and fought on the way, but now she was smiling again. He wondered at the effect she had on him, and he had on her. They brought out such fire and emotion in one another. His heart ached with the potential of that passion when it was properly channeled. He smiled broadly, giving a slight shake of his head as he saw her reach for the strand around her neck, assuring herself it was still there.

He felt her hand tense on his arm and her steps slowing to a halt. He followed her gaze, looking across the street. His eyes glanced from the direction she was staring, to her face and back again. She was focused on the crowd across the street hovering outside the entrance to the Cathedral. She watched intently as couple after couple entered through the doors, yet the crowd did not thin. Inspecting them closely, she discovered why the crowd remained. They were photographers. 

"Tristan?"

Oh how he loved the way she said his name. It sounded different when it came from her lips. Sweet. Manly. He almost didn't recognize it. He could buy a record just to listen to her say his name over and over. He quickly brought his wandering mind back to the conversation at hand.

"Who did you say was getting married?"

"My cousin." His reply was simple but not direct.

"And who exactly is your cousin?"

Tristan paused for a moment, deciding what little information to reveal. "Mike."

"Mike who?" 

"Mike McCarty," he admitted reluctantly.

Her eyes shot to his face. "As in Governor McCarty's son?"

"The very same." His replies were short, and Rory couldn't help but think that he had intentionally withheld information from her.

"You mean to tell me Governor McCarty is your uncle?"

"No. But he is married to my aunt," he replied evasively.

Rory's exasperation etched its way onto her face. "Did it ever occur to you to tell me that the wedding we were attending was THE wedding event of the year for the East Coast."

Tristan looked at her inquisitively. His ignorance was genuine. "It is?"

"Tristan!. There have been articles after articles about this wedding in the Hartford paper. 'Son of Governor marries high school sweetheart who just so happens to be the heiress to the largest corporation in the East. These people are practically royalty around here."

Tristan shrugged his shoulders, displaying his indifference to this fact. "Would it have made a difference?"

She pondered the question for a moment, sorting through its implications. She let out a sigh as she formed her answer. "Probably not. My objections to tonight's event stemmed from the company I would be keeping. And regardless of who was getting married, I would still be stuck with you as an escort."

Tristan was slightly taken aback by her statement. His insecurities wavered when he saw the hint of amusement in her eyes. They vanished completely when the smile reached her mouth. She was toying with him again.

"Well, fortunately for you, I am not the worst person you could be spending your evening with. I'm sure there are lots of psychopaths willing to take you to a wedding, throw your dismembered body in the back of the car, and drive away into the night."

"Ooh. You mean Norman Bates _was_ free tonight?", she mocked.

He cast her a sideways glance, gently pulling her forward and led her to the church.

******************************8

The wedding was a beautiful display of elegance and prestige. Money may not buy everything, but it sure can provide an elaborate event. Many times throughout the ceremony, Rory let mind wander to what her wedding would be like. Unlike most girls, she hadn't spent her childhood planning out her dream wedding to the perfect boy. No, she put her time and effort into concentrating on school and whatever else it would take to get her to Harvard. She always assumed that when the timing was right, her knight in shining armor would appear, sweep her off of her feet, and they would live happily ever after. But tonight, she let herself explore a world where she was the blushing bride, walking down the aisle to meet her prince. She didn't want to think about the fact that in her mental image, Mr. Perfect was always played by Tristan. She rationalized her thoughts, attempting to convince herself it was because he was sitting next to her when she had these thoughts. Surely if she had been anywhere else, she could have easily placed a number of different guys into that position. She caught herself staring down at her left hand, dressing it in her mind with a variety of styles of engagement rings. She couldn't help but smile when she realized what she was doing. In all her effort to be less girlie, she hadn't succeeded. She was just like the rest of them. She was indeed a sap.

Tristan held the door to the reception hall, following Rory into the room. He had never been a fan of weddings. But somehow, Rory made them bearable. Well, she did more than make them bearable. The wedding tonight was, dare he say, entertaining. He couldn't keep from staring at her during the ceremony. Her facial expressions mimicked her emotions. Even though she didn't know the bride or the groom, she was caught up in the moment. He never quite understood a girl's obsession with weddings. The entire scene was nearly perfect. The old style church was the picturesque setting for the lavish wedding. The aisles were filled with fresh flowers, the aroma tickling his nose. The darkened sky was lit only by the candles along the walls. It was very cozy.

He drew a few censuring looks during the ceremony, when a laugh escaped. Rory had whispered her take on the bridesmaids and their escorts, verbalizing their thoughts as they traipsed down the aisle.

They weaved through the mass of tables in search of their name cards. Tristan finally located them at a table near the back wall. "Mr. Tristan DuGrey and Guest." They were seated at a table with his parents and a few members of his extended family. They were the first of their group to arrive. Tristan anxiously looked around the room, searching for his parents. He spotted his mother first, her haughty swagger displaying her amazing self-assurance. His eyes moved to the figure directly behind her. She had his father in tow. His father's expression epitomized every man's thoughts of attending the obligatory wedding.

"Brace yourself." The warning was uttered in a low voice. Tristan mentally readied himself, wincing at the inevitable meeting between Rory and his parents. 

"Mom, Dad. I'd like you to meet Rory Gilmore."

Rory took a step forward, returning the handshakes of the couple. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She was greeted with a caustic smile, first by finished woman, and then by her husband. Rory's first thought was that perhaps Tristan had over exaggerated his parents' demeanors. They seemed pleasant enough at first. That changed the moment Mrs. DuGrey began to speak.

"Gilmore? Are you the granddaughter of Richard and Emily Gilmore?" She paused to acknowledge Rory's affirmative answer. "So you're the reason the infamous Lorelai Gilmore had to quit school. Such a shame. She was a very bright student. She was planning on attending Yale, wasn't it? I guess that didn't matter. If your parents had learned to keep their hands to themselves things could have worked out very differently.

"Mother." Tristan's bold tone of voice with his mother did little to sway her attitude. 

The word uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe the way Rory felt. She watched as Tristan's parents looked her over from head to toe, disapproving of what they saw.

"With all due respect, I find it difficult to consider my parents' actions a mistake. If they had done things differently, I wouldn't be here today." Rory's attempt to defend herself was falling flat. 

"And what a pity that would be." Her next disparaging remark was directed at her son. "Really, Tristan. I give you too much credit. I thought you had better taste than that."

Rory felt as though she had just been slapped. The words stung worse than if she had. Her entire life, she had been reminded of the consequences she brought to her mother's life. She had come to terms with her insecurity years ago. However, the verbal assault coming from this stranger sparked some of those fears. Before she could make a response, the DuGreys had left to socialize with other members of the elite class.

Tristan's eyes burned with anger at his mother. He was useless. Defending Rory to his parents would get him no where. He barely contained his anger as Rory overheard a few choice words linked to his mother's name.

He turned to Rory in an attempt to cover for his mother's behavior. "I am so sorry for that. I don't know what gets into her. Obviously grace and manners were not for sale at her charm school."

Rory could see the anger in his eyes, though it wasn't directed at her. When she remained silent, he continued.

"I for one am glad your parents got their groove on when they did. I would be in quite the predicament now if they hadn't." The anger in his eyes was fading, as the adoring look reserved just for her returned.

Rory cast him a quizzical look. "What does that mean?"

"Well imagine if your parents had waited a few years to have kids. I would definitely have some explaining to do when they caught me chasing after the 10 year old Rory Gilmore."

His humor was infections. The mental picture of 16 year old Tristan holding hands with 10 year old Rory was enough to bring a smile to her face. She didn't know how he did it. At a time when she felt lower than she had in months, he had her smiling.

"You obviously don't know the 10 year old Rory. Let me assure you, she wasn't turning any heads."

Tristan pulled out a chair, helping her to take her seat. He leaned in close, his lips within inches of her ear. The warmth of his breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine. 

"She only needed to turn one. And let me assure you, I have excellent psychic skills. Foreseeing the beauty you would be today, I would have chased you around in circles even if you looked like Abraham Lincoln."

Her heart fluttered at his words. She felt the blood in her body rushing to her cheeks, leaving her extremities tingling. If she had not been seated, the huskiness of his voice would have surely weakened her knees. She watched him pull out a chair and nonchalantly take his seat.

***********************

The dinner that evening was a spectacular array of the finest foods spread over a seven course meal. The entrees consisted of expensive delicacies as well as trademark foods of the East Coast. Yet even with the mounds of food before them, Rory couldn't help but think that the DuGreys were having Tristan for dinner. She sat in silence as time after time his parents remarked on all his faults. They discussed with the other family members how each of their sons had excelled at soccer. But not Tristan. He chose the less flashy, less prestigious sport of swimming. Rory wanted to point out that he had set the fastest times ever by a sophomore in 3 events. But she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. She also didn't want to face his questioning look when he learned that she had been following his sport. She bit her lip as his parents went on and on about how each of his brothers had either been valedictorian or salutatorian of their respective classes. But not Tristan. She wanted to bring light to the fact that Tristan was a top 10 student, at Chilton. And Chilton was one of the most challenging schools in the state. He was hardly a failure.

Rory could see the muscles in his jaw tense at each degrading comment. She saw the blank expression of his face, trying to convey indifference to the subject. At school, he was perhaps the most popular student walking the halls. Every guy wanted to be him. Every girl wanted to be with him. But that wasn't good enough for the DuGreys. He had to be perfect. Rory knew their comments hurt. Regardless of how idolized he was by his peers, that couldn't take away the fact that his parents considered him a disappointment.

Rory reached out her hand, placing it on top of his. She gave a slight, comforting squeeze. His eyes met hers in silent gratitude and unspoken understanding. 

"Would you excuse us please, we haven't given our wishes to the bride and groom." Rory realized how ridiculous her words sounded. She placed her napkin on the table, and rose from her chair. Tristan followed her lead and within seconds was by her side.

"Well thank you for introducing me to the anti Ward and June Cleaver."

"Oh the fun has just begun. In a few minutes one of them will threaten to divorce the other, and a battle over assets will ensue."

He followed her winding path through the mass of tables, unsure of their destination. She finally slowed to a halt next to a lighted tree along the wall. Tristan took his place to her side, facing the hundreds of people in the room. 

"So, do we have a plan here?'

Rory turned her head slightly, gazing at his profile. "Not really. I just had to get away from the negativity of that table. Your parents sure know how to dampen the mood."

"I'm really sorry about all this." He apologized another time. "I really thought my parents would be on their best behavior tonight, but I see that that just isn't going to happen."

"Actually you're scoring bonus points." She waited for his questioning look. "Compared to your parents, your taunting should be considered flattery."

They were so caught up in their conversation, neither of them noticed the younger man approach. He walked into their eyesight, immediately vying for Rory's attention.

"Excuse me, miss. Could I have this dance?"

Rory found herself staring into the eyes of a very attractive young man. He was dressed in the standard black tuxedo, offsetting his dark hair. He appeared to be in his twenties, slightly older than the guys she was used to talking to. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Her eyes flew to Tristan's, pleading for an answer. He was watching their exchange with mild amusement, and what she assumed was a tinge of jealously. He nodded his head slightly, encouraging her to accept the offer. She returned her gaze to the mysterious man, and nodded her head yes. He took her hand, and led her onto the dance floor.

Tristan turned to face the dance floor, making sure he had an unobstructed view of the two. He leaned against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. His mind raced back to an occasion much like this. He was against the wall, watching her dance, seeing her kiss someone other than himself. Only this time, she had come with him. That other night had been a complete disaster. He had embarrassed himself in front of the entire school, acting and looking like a lovesick puppy. But one good thing came of that night. He had come to terms with the fact that she was more than just a game. He accepted the fact that he ...

He stopped himself in mid-thought, shaking his head. He what? Liked her? Longed for her? Needed her? Loved her? He wasn't quite sure what the feeling was, though he was certain it was not going away. 

He remained against the wall, watching them dance. Rory's hands rested lightly on his shoulder, as his were around her waist. A small distance separated the two, allowing them to look at each other. She was laughing at something he said. A pang of jealously soared through Tristan's body. He was the one supposed to be making her laugh. Tristan continued his torture, watching her gracefully move in the stranger's arms. 

One thought kept returning to his mind. Here she was, so far out of her league, and yet, she fit right in. His parents may be foolish enough to judge her based on her parents' actions, but everyone else knew better. She was beautiful, intelligent, and possessed a grace that surpassed most everyone in the room. And she had his heart.

Rory gazed above the shoulder of her dance partner, her eyes landing on Tristan's frame. He was leaning against the wall, as if he had no care's in the world. And he was watching her. Her eyes held his gaze as that tingling feeling returned. When did he start to have this effect on her? They held their gaze for a few minutes more, sharing a silent moment. She tried to read the emotions in his eyes, but his experience at keeping them hidden prevailed. Without warning, she looked away, focusing on another target. She would have stared into those eyes all night, but she knew she was not as talented when it came to hiding her emotions. And she just wasn't ready to let him see those emotions until she had figured out for herself what they meant. A few more seconds of staring into his eyes and she was certain her legs would give out beneath her. Regaining a sense of composure, she turned again to her dance partner, once again engaging in meaningless chatter.

***********

Tristan rose from his seat and pulled out Rory's chair. She had been quite busy tonight, just now returning from her fifth dance. She graciously accepted each offer, always limiting the encounter to just one dance. Tristan himself had danced a few dances, but he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes off her. They had yet to share a dance, and with the night fading away, he was beginning to lose hope that they would.

Instead of taking her seat, Rory stood beside her chair, analyzing a small piece of paper in her hand. She looked up to meet Tristan's gaze, a smile gracing her face.

"What's that?" He had watched her make imaginary marks on the slip of paper.

"My dance card." She looked from his face, to the paper. "And it appears as though you still owe me a dance. Yep, right here." She pointed to the paper. "Last dance. Tristan DuGrey." 

He met her glance with his trademark smirk.

"You don't want to keep a lady waiting."

He matched the twinkle in her eyes with one in his own. "Well if it's on paper than I guess I'm forced to comply." He held out his hand, desperately attempting to hide his reaction to her touch. He slowly led her to the floor, praying that the DJ would cue up a slow tune. 

The music began, and she took her place in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers brushing up against his tousled hair. The distance between them was considerably smaller than the distance she held with her other suitors that night. She felt his arms around her waist, his hands resting on the small of her back.

Tristan was oblivious to the music when it began. He was so taken into the feeling of her in his arms. The scent of her hair taunting his senses. Slowly the words of the song floated into his thoughts. He felt his body stiffen slightly, and hoped she didn't realize the reason for his tensing.

The angelic voice of Faith Hill echoed through the room and his thoughts.

_If I'm not in love with you_

What is this I'm going through, tonight

And if this heart is lying then

What should I believe in

Why do I go crazy

Every time I think about you baby

Why else do I want you like I do

If I'm not in love with you

Rory didn't have the strength to resist as she felt herself drawn against his body. She couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes, afraid of what she would see there. She tried not to hear the words of the song as she felt the warmth of his breath graze her ear.

_And if I don't need your touch_

Why do I miss you so much, tonight

If it's just infatuation then

Why is my heart achin'

To hold you forever

Give a part of me I thought I'd never

Give again to someone I could lose

If I'm not in love with you.

Tristan could feel her relax in his embrace. Everything about this moment was perfect. He couldn't help but notice how well their bodies fit together. They weren't 2 people dancing on the dance floor. They were one. 

__

Oh why in every fantasy

Do I feel your arms embracing me

Like lovers lost in sweet desire

And why in dreams do I surrender

Like a little baby 

How do I explain this feeling

Someone tell me

Rory attempted to contain her rapid beating. She was certain Tristan could hear the loud beating of her heart, as she felt it bang against her chest. She mustered the courage to look into his eyes. Their eyes locked, searching each other, searching their own hearts. Neither noticed when their movements stopped, standing completely still, staring into each others eyes.

__

If I'm not in love with you

What is this I'm going through, tonight

And if this heart is lying then

What should I believe in

Why do I go crazy

Every time I think about you baby

Why else do I want you like I do

If I'm not in love with you.

The music gradually faded, the two still locked in their physical and mental embrace. Tristan's eyes searched hers, looking for a sign that she felt the same. His gaze shifted to her mouth, and when it returned to her eyes, she was staring at his lips. They locked eyes once again as he slowly leaned in, allowing her plenty of time to turn away.

Rory jumped back as a flash snapped within a few feet of them. Startled, she turned to see a camera man, taking pictures of various couples throughout the room. Tristan's head snapped in the same direction, stunned at break in the moment. 

The moment having been broken, they looked at each other in awkward silence, and proceeded to exit the floor.

The car ride was one big moment of awkward silence. Tristan mentally cursed himself for tonight's actions. He also cursed the photographer for ruining what could have been the greatest moment of the night.

Rory's confused state of mind did little to calm her nerves. She replayed the events of this evening in her head, searching for a different reason than the one she kept returning to. She had almost let Tristan kiss her again. No, she almost begged him to kiss her again. The emptiness she felt when they were interrupted was overwhelming. And she wanted a different explanation than the one she knew was the cause. She was falling for him. Serious, head over heels, falling for him.

Rory glanced at the clock on the dash. It was late. She knew her grandparents had wanted her home at a reasonable hour, but that was an impossible feat given the length of the reception and the driving distance home. Her thoughts were interrupted as the car lurched, causing Tristan to pull off to the side of the road. 

In the pitch black, Tristan could barely see what was going on outside.

"What's wrong?" The first words she spoke were spoken out of nerves.

"Um.. I don't know. It just died on me." He looked at the instrumentation panel, noting that the lamp indicating the engine temperature was lit. He swung open the door, pulling the little lever to release the hood. 

Stepping out of the car, he immediately saw the steam billowing from the engine. He cursed to himself. He'd seen this before, though it had never happened to him. He knew what this was about. He walked around the front of the car, motioning for Rory to roll down her window.

"It overheated," he said dryly.

"What's that mean?"

"It means that we have to find another way home."

"It's 2 in the morning!"

"That doesn't change the fact that the car is broken down, does it." His sarcastic voice did little to ease his own worry.

***********************

20 minutes and a dozen phone calls later, he found himself fighting the lock on the motel door. His parents either had turned off their cell phones, or they were simply ignoring his calls. Whichever, they were unable to reach them. They had only been on the road approximately 25 minutes, which meant that they were still an hour and a half from Hartford. They discussed their options, settling on the least horrifying. He had suggested they call her grandparents, but Rory didn't trust them to be out this late driving. Instead he overheard her arguing with them as he checked them into the hotel. He only caught the gist of what she was saying, overhearing phrases like "ridiculous", "we'll be fine", and "I'm not telling you where we are." He was sure they were going to hate him.

He finally worked the key in the lock, swinging the door inward. He gathered the items they removed from his abandoned car, and followed her into the room. Her finger flipped the switch, and he practically ran into her when she came to a dead halt.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Tristan's eyes searched the room, taking in the less than appealing interior of the shaggy hotel room. His eyes landed on the object of her disproval.

His voice was dry, the tired strains evident. "There's only one bed." He was stating the obvious.

"Un Uh. No way Tristan." She was shaking her head, protesting their opted solution.

"Please, Rory, can we not do this?" He was holding his hand up, and exhausted attempt to waive off her protests. He ignored her incredulous look as he handed her the shorts and t-shirt he had managed to grab from his car.

"Tristan!?" Her tone indicated she wanted more than a waving of his hand.

Unwillingly, he gave into his emotions. His voice echoed with the exasperation and frustration that he experienced all night. "O.K. Rory, you got me. I planned this whole thing out just so I could get you in here and jump you. Forget romance and candlelight, I arranged to have my car break down in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, so that I could bring you to this flea-bag hotel and have my way with you. Yeah, this is exactly how I imagined our first night to be. You and me in a dirty hotel room." His words trailed off. His anger was directed not at her, but at himself. 

Rory tensed as his tirade wore on. She knew that this was the only room available. And she knew how upsetting the night had been for him. She was stunned as he inadvertently confessed that he had thought about the two of them together. She tried not to dwell on that idea, because truthfully, that was her fear. She wasn't afraid of what he would do to her, she was afraid of what she would do. 

Her mind raced for a way to soothe his temper. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly. "I didn't mean it like that."

Tristan's back was to her as he threw his coat across one of the chairs. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous." Though his offer was gallant, she wasn't about to let him sleep on the filthy floor. "You have no idea what could have been on this floor. The bed is big enough for the both of us." She took the clothes he had given her and headed to the bathroom.

Tristan heard the clicking of the bathroom door, releasing a pent up sigh. What was wrong with him. She had this uncanny ability to make himself lose control. He stripped himself out of the bowtie and shirt, casting them on top of the chair. Luckily, he had had a set of clothes in his car so that she wouldn't have to sleep in the dress. He, however, was forced by lack of options to sleep in his tux pants. Probably not the most comfortable night of his life. But he knew he would be getting little sleep knowing that her body was so close to his.

Rory returned from the bathroom, fully clothed in Tristan's oversized T and shorts. She hung her dress over the luggage rack in the closet, and adjusted the drawstring of her shorts She made her way back to the room, suddenly stopping cold. She inhaled sharply as she was greeted with the site of his bare back. His back was to her, and he was holding the phone to his ear. Her eyes moved over the length of him, gaping at the well defined muscles in his shoulders, tapering to his waist. His free hand massaged the muscles at the base of his neck, relieving some of the tension from the night. Before he could see her, she walked to the nearest side of the bed, shoving down the covers, and climbed in.

Tristan hung up the phone, turning around to the bed. He hadn't heard her come in, and saw her now, nestled under the many layers of blankets. He stifled an exasperated sigh, as he noted how she hovered at the edge of the bed, in fear of the person she would be sharing the bed with. He crossed the room, flicking off the lights. He shoved the covers back from his half of the bed, falling into bed with an exhausted motion. He turned his head and could see her outline, a few inches from him. He lay on his back, covering his face with his hands. His quiet whisper was a pleading question. "Why me?"

**__**

End Part 2


	3. Fallen

****

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I've borrowed them to perform my every whim.

__

Part 3

Slightly disoriented, Rory awakened to Tristan's warm breath on the back of her neck. his heavy, deep breaths indicating that he was still asleep. Glancing at the nightstand, she noted that it was about 5 in the morning. She attempted to move from the bed, only to realize something was holding her back. She felt an unusual weight weighing down her middle. Her searching hands quickly encountered Tristan's arm, draped carelessly over her waist. Rory twisted under the weight of his arm, mildly surprised when he strengthened his hold. Her slight movement halted by his possessive grasp.. She managed to turn so that she was facing him, her face only inches from his.

Rory laid motionless, staring at the outline of his face. The slumber had removed the lines of tension from under his eyes. In the dimly lit room, she could make out each of his features, admiring his looks. She smiled timidly at their present state. In his state of sleep, he appeared completely harmless. But she knew that all he had to do was awaken and give her a smile or say her name, and she would melt. It was growing more and more difficult for her to fight her growing attraction. And she was beginning to wonder if she really wanted to fight it. Tonight had been special. He was such a gentleman, completely opposite of the Tristan she knew. She inwardly winced as she recalled the conversations with his parents. She had begun to understand why Tristan was the way he was. Anyone with a homelife such as his deserved to be cut a little slack.

Unable to resist the temptation, she gently raised her arms, lacing her fingers through his tousled hair. He began to stir and she quickly withdrew her hand as if she had just been burned. He again tightened his hold, bringing her body closer to his. She instinctively put her hands in front of her, forcing them to come in contact with his chest. Her eyes flickered to his, verifying that he was still sleeping.

After a few seconds, his breathing returned to the previous state, unaware that he had her in such a hold. Satisfied that he was asleep, Rory could feel his bare chest with her hands. The warmth of his body and the sensation of his defined muscles caused her heart to skip a beat. She moved her hand slightly, noting the brief twitching of the muscles. Afraid to wake him, she pulled her hands away, disappointed at the lack of contact, unable to finish her foray over his taut stomach.

She laid motionless for a few minutes, simply looking upon the man before her. A strange feeling swept over her, shivering as the goose-bumps crept up her skin. He was attractive, she had to give him that, but she had never fallen for a guy based on looks alone. She stopped at that thought. Fallen. Had she indeed fallen for him? Her mind raced as she tried to wrap her thoughts around the idea and what that idea meant. Perhaps that was the only explanation for the way she felt. The only reason he affected her in such a way. She couldn't deny the way her heart fluttered at the thought of him next to her. And she knew the heated sensations of his skin upon hers. 

She had wanted him to kiss her tonight, to feel his lips on hers once again. She could barely contain the sickening feeling when the flash went off, snapping them out of their trance. She never received her kiss, and her heart longed for the day when she would once again know the pleasure of his kiss.

A slight smile crossed her lips. Twenty four hours ago, she was convincing herself of how little he meant to her. Convincing herself that after all he had done, they could still be friends. Only friends. And now, here she lay, wrapped up in his arms, admitting how much she needed him. His rhythmic breathing and their intimate embrace were hypnotically lulling her back to sleep. Her eyes flickered shut, giving in to sleep that beckoned.

She had indeed fallen.

Still half asleep, Rory reached out her arm to the bed beside her, finding it strange when she felt emptiness. She continued to feel around, uncertain of what she was looking for, but knowing she was missing something. She started to awaken fully, realizing what, or rather who, she was searching for.

Rory turned to her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. She let out a small yawn, mentally waking herself up. As she became more aware of her surrounding, her senses returned. And with that, her sense of smell. Her head snapped up, quickly pulling herself to her knees. Her eyes darted around the empty room, frantically searching for the source of the heavenly smell. Her gaze crossed the nightstand, finding the object of desire.

"Coffee." It was spoken in a tone of reverence, paying homage to the creator of the magnificent drug. She quickly scooted across the bed, wrapping both hands around the styrofoam cup. She cautiously took a drink, careful not to scorch her tongue on the hot liquid.

She scrunched up her nose, twisting her face into a disgusted look. "Eww. Really _bad_ coffee."

Tristan entered the room, shutting the door with his foot. He couldn't contain his laughter as he saw her, kneeling on the bed, coffee in hand, spitting to get the taste out of her mouth. She looked up when she heard him laughing at her, taking pleasure in her state.

"You know, bringing a girl bad coffee has led to hanging in some countries."

The laughter had stopped but the smirk remained. He was glad she was talking to him, afraid that his actions the previous night would have returned him to jerk status in her eyes. "Then it's a good thing we don't live in one of those countries." 

"And laughing at her while she drank said bad coffee resulted could result in decapitation."

"If I'm hanged, doesn't that mean I'm already dead?"

She pondered his logic. "They cut off your head first and then hang you. By your toenails."

"Now that's a pleasant thought for eight in the morning." 

He crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed. Rory was still on her knees, leaning back and sitting on her feet.

"So how's the car?" 

"Not good. We lost her a few times, but the miracles of modern medicine have worked their wonders."

"So will she be released any time today, or do they have to keep her overnight for observation.?"

Tristan was finding it difficult to keep his eyes from running over her length. She was sitting there in his clothes, yet his simple t-shirt and shorts could not conceal her beauty. Even after just waking up she could do this to him. "They've been working on the radiator for the last hour, and they said we should be good to go in about 20 minutes."

"Well, then I'm going to freshen up a bit." She felt awkward at they way they were dressed. He was sitting in his tux pants and shirt, she in a t-shirt and shorts. However, she wasn't about to change back into that dress. For now, that dress held a special memory, and she didn't want to tarnish it on the ride home.

Tristan watched her make her way to the bathroom, collapsing backward onto the bed as the door shut. He covered his eyes with his hands as memories from last night flooded into his mind. 

He had awakened early this morning to Rory in his arms. She was resting peacefully, one hand splayed across his chest. He could remember vividly the feeling of his arm around her, her breath lightly grazing his neck. And he knew that's how he wanted to awaken every morning for the rest of his life. And the thought that he could think about the rest of his life in that way, scared him beyond measure. 

He had held her silently in his arms, watching the beauty next to him. But as much as he hated to do so, he had to unwrap their entangled bodies. She wasn't ready for this, and he knew if she awakened in his embrace, her fear would drive her away. He removed himself from her proximity, and after a long cold shower, attended himself to the affairs of the car.

Rory re-entered the room, her dress delicately placed over her arm. Tristan raised himself off the bed, crossing the floor to her. He reached out his hand, intending to relieve her from the duty of carrying the dress. His arm brushed up against hers as he silently took it from her possession. Their eyes locked for a mere moment, before both looked away. Rory wasn't sure what caused her to look away, or more importantly what it was about him that affected her so much.

"Shall we go?" 

"I think we've had enough excitement for one night." Her voice was softer than she intended, unaware at the volumes her words spoke.

She followed his lead, exiting through the opened door. Leaving behind the room, but not the memories.

The car ride home was pretty uneventful. Tristan notice how little Rory spoke, and when she did, she made no mention of the previous day. He had tried to bring the topic up a couple of times, but her answers were short and she quickly changed the subject. He wasn't quite sure what her unwillingness meant, but he didn't think meant well for him.

Tristan pulled into her grandparents' driveway, noticing the slight groan she let out. He placed the car in park, and turned to face her.

"What's wrong?"

"See that jeep over there?" She pointed in the direction of the garage. "My mom's here."

"Is that a problem?"

"My grandparents called her. They were probably frantic and called her at 2 in the morning, and she probably raced up here to wait until I got here."

"She's your mother. She has a right to be concerned where you're involved."

"Yeah, but you don't know how much my mother hates being here. She must really be upset if she drove all the way up here on a Sunday morning."

Rory reached for the handle on the door.

"Do you want me to come in and explain?", he offered sincerely.

Rory glance over at him, slightly smiling at his gallant gesture. "I don't think the day after you've had her only daughter holed up in a hotel is the right time to meet my mother."

"Uh right. Some other time then."

Rory smiled at his quick change of heart. She opened the door, stepping out of the car. With one hand on the door, she leaned down, looking back into the car at him.

"I had a really good time last night." 

Tristan scoffed at her confession. "Which part? The part where my mother insulted you and publicly humiliated you? Or the part where my car broke down and we had to walk a half a mile to a hotel where you all but accused me of wanting to sleep with you?"

The part where I woke up in your arms, she thought. "We did have a pretty eventful night, didn't we?"

"That we did. Thank you for going with me."

"As much as I doubted I'd be saying this, it was my pleasure," she smiled genuinely.

Tristan briefly looked to the front door. "Well, I think I've kept you long enough. You'd better go let them know that I did bring you home in one piece."

"I'm sure they'll be grateful for that." She made a move to leave the car.

"Don't forget your dress." He reached into the back seat pulling it forward and handed it to her through the open door.

She hesitated, not certain she could accept the pricey gift.

"Take it," he insisted. "It's not my size."

"Thank you, Tristan. See you on Monday." She shut the car door and crossed the driveway.

He waited until she had made it to the porch, replaying the soft way she said his name. He watched her until the point where he would be caught staring, he started his car, and pulled out of the Gilmore driveway.

Rory bounded up the stairs, slowing as she approached the door. Duct taped at eye level was the Sunday morning edition of the Hartford Times. She was certain this was her mother's doing, because she highly doubted either of her grandparents had touched a roll of duct tape in their lives. She approached the door, carefully pulling the newspaper from it's hold. There on the front page was a story about yesterday's wedding. There was one large picture of the bride and groom, surrounded by smaller pictures of some of the guests.

And there in the corner it was. She ran a finger over her image, as she inspected the picture of she and Tristan. They were dancing on the floor, though most of their movement had stopped by that point. They were gazing into each others eyes, and Rory remembered what had almost happened. 

Luckily she had been standing off to the side, for at that moment, the door swung open, Lorelai grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the house. She put a finger to her lips signifying that she wanted her silence. With a firm hold on her arm, she practically dragged her up the stairs and to the room that was now Rory's. Once inside she broke the silence.

"Why didn't you tell me Tristan was one step away from Brad Pitt?"

Rory was slightly taken aback by her question. This was not what she had expected. "What? No 'hi, how are you?' or 'thank heavens you're safe'?"

"Don't avoid the question." Lorelai took the paper from Rory's grasp, and crossed the room to sit on the bed. "Please tell me this is Tristan you're dancing with."

"It is."

"And is he as good looking in person as he is in this picture?"

"Mom," she said exasperatedly. "That's a profile shot. You can't tell what he looks like."

"Oh yes I can. Call it mother's intuition. Plus, I know he has to be hot with the way you're staring into his eyes."

"I was not staring into his eyes."

Lorelai gave her a doubting look. 

"Ok, so maybe I was."

"Did he kiss you?" Lorelai was acting like a little girl.

"I'm not answering that."

"My 16 year old daughter spends the night in a hotel room with a 16 year old boy and won't tell her grandparents where they are, and I can't ask a simple question. Fine. You don't want to answer that question, I'll move on." She paused for dramatic effect. "Did you use protection?"

"Mother!"

"You have to answer one of my questions, so pick one."

"No, he didn't kiss me."

"Good choice. Did you want him to kiss you?"

Rory approached the bed and flopped down on her stomach. "I don't want to talk about this right now." Her voice was mumbled by her face laying on her arm.

"Rory, honey. Are you alright?" She pushed her hair back, hoping to see her face.

Rory raised her head, staring forward. "Have you ever wanted something so badly even though you know how much you shouldn't want it?"

"Is this about Tristan?"

"Yes...no... I mean, I don't know. I don't know what I mean anymore. Since when did everything have to become so complicated?"

"Since you turned 5 and realized Barbie had career options."

Rory laid her forehead on her arm and sighed. 

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

A few moments passed, her mother patiently waiting for her to open up.

"It's just that there's Tristan. He spent months making my life miserable, and then a few weeks ago, we sorta became friends. And then last night, he was this charming, romantic guy. And now I don't know what to think."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Not if it involves the words 'like' or 'fallen'."

Lorelai was silent confirming her notion.

Rory laid like that a little while longer, Lorelai's silence both consoling and unnerving her. She took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to admit what she was about to say.

She raised her head again. "You know what I think?" 

Lorelai turned to look at her daughter, anticipating her confession.

"I think I've fallen for him." 

**__**

End Part 3


	4. Can't

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Authors Note: I struggled with where to take this, and finally settled on this. I apologize beforehand for the Dawson's Creekness of it all. 

****

Rating: PG with some mild cursing and sexual overtones.

****

Disclaimer: None of it's mine except the batty ideas in my head.

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Part 4

The clock on the wall read 1:30, and for a moment, Rory wasn't sure if it was a.m. or p.m. She squinted her eyes as she squirmed around in the bed, still groggy from her sleep. Searching for some point to orient herself, she craned her neck to look over at the window, on the far wall. Streams of light shone around the pulled blinds, giving the only indication that it was in fact daytime. Her mother was right. This place could be a dungeon. With the windows covered by the thick blinds and drapes, it was hard to tell the difference between night and day. In a way, the darkness was comforting, beckoning her to crawl back into the warmth of the covers, and submit to another hour of sleep. 

She cautiously sat up in bed, running her hand through strands of her messy hair as she looked around the room. This room was definitely not hers. Knickknacks and posters adorned the wall, signifying what her grandmother believed every sixteen year old was interested in. Apparently, she had yet to realize that Rory wasn't like every other sixteen year old on the planet. She wasn't awed by the pop icons of her generation or fooled into believing persons of fame had some innate charm that separated them from the rest of society. She appreciated the effort her grandmother extended to make her feel at home. But nothing would replace the comfort of her own bedroom, even if it were half the size of this one. 

She stood from the bed, her shaky legs barely supporting her clumsy, just awoken stance. She paused to gain control over her body, dreading a fall into the night stand that would mark up her charming features. Having gained her balance, she flipped on the nearest lamp, her eyes flickering to the mirror on the wall as she did so. She couldn't suppress the giggles at the sight of her. Her hair was a mess, mussed from the nap she just took, strands hanging in front of her eyes, and misplaced from the ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was smudged, mascara leaving dark circles under her tired eyes. Her eye makeup formed lines down her cheeks, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought she'd been crying. She used her fingertips to wipe away as much of the mess as she could, deciding her eyes must have watered from pure exhaustion as she drifted off to sleep. Her outfit didn't help matters. She glanced down at her wrinkled clothes, deep creases forming where she had twisted in her sleep. She was still wearing the borrowed t-shirt and shorts, swimming in the masses of extra fabric draping her body. She looked to her feet, noticing the cause of her unsteadiness. The red straps of her shoes crossed her ankles, holding them firmly to her feet, yet unable to keep her from wobbling on the chunky heels. Lorelai hadn't given her the opportunity to change, for the second she entered the house, well, actually before she had entered the house, Lorelai had practically dragged her up the stairway to this room. She looked herself over in the mirror again, amusing herself with the less than stellar beauty queen appearance. 

The cloud from sleep hanging over her thoughts had not yet lifted. She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but she knew it was shortly after arriving at her grandparents' house. She vaguely recalled a conversation with her mother, but had so far been spared the interrogation that was sure to come from her grandparents. Bits and pieces of her conversation drifted in and out of her thoughts. She remembered something about a newspaper. And something having to do with Tristan. Her mother must have decided the best medicine following an eventful night was sleep, and she silently thanked her for that. She was grateful for the extra rest, still recovering from her lack of sleep the night before. Her fitful resting at the hotel had been less than peaceful. She had slept on and off, but being in the vicinity of Tristan kept her from completely relaxing and submitting to her dreams. The pull he had over her emotions was far from negated by his sleeping state. Even when he wasn't awake, he could make her question everything she ever thought about him. And about herself.

She stooped to relieve her feet from the confining shoes, losing the formality that contrasted sharply with the rest of her attire. She carefully undid the straps, pulling her feet from the fancy footwear. Grabbing them by the heels, she crossed the room, placing them neatly, side by side beneath the hanging dress. The dress had been returned to the protective cocoon of the garment bag. Her mother had been thoughtful enough to put it away, guessing the memories that one piece of clothing could hold. Feeling an inexplicable urge, she reached up to unzip the cover, needing to feel the fabric between her fingers. She ran her hand across the material, her fingertips gliding over the soft satin fabric. Pulling the dress closer to her face, she inhaled the myriad of scents retained from last night, each different scent flooding her mind with memories and thoughts from the night before. She could smell the perfume she wore mixing with the smoke lingering from the reception hall and their dirty hotel room. She easily picked out traces of his cologne, transferring to her dress as he held her so close during their dance. She didn't notice how she began to sway slightly to the music in her mind, remembering the feel of being wrapped in his embrace.

She rezipped the garment bag, closing the dress and its memories into the protective lining. Her fingertips grazed the side of her head, massaging the strain from her temples. She knew full well the headache that was emerging from her lack of coffee, reminding her she was long overdue for her next fix. On her path across the room, she passed by the mirror, something about her appearance catching her eye. Pausing momentarily, she took a few steps backward, turning to face herself in it's length. She stood for a few seconds, pondering her appearance yet again. Approaching it so that she was only inches away, her eyes focused on the glints of light sparkling from the object around her neck. She gently lifted her hand, her finger looping through the necklace, removing it from its confines under the shirt. The rubies and diamonds twinkled with the sunlight that managed to creep into the room. She ran her hand over the jewels as they lay on her neck, a motion repeated many times within the last 24 hours. For a moment she forgot the price of the necklace, for her, the value resting far from the monetary denomination.

She reached her hands behind her neck, lifting her hair to get at the clasp. Her fingers sought to grab hold of the mechanism, struggling to open it. As she fiddled with it, her eyes looked into the mirror, focusing on the strand around her neck. As if in a different world, her hands stopped their actions pausing in her movements to stare at the piece surrounding her delicate neck. For some unknown reason, she refused to remove it, needing to keep the cold metal against her skin. Her hands once again returned to their protective covering the necklace. She ran her fingertips over the jewels, the ragged edges lightly scraping against her hand. She let her hands fall to her sides, staring confused at the image before her. Thousands of feelings and emotions coursed through her body as she focused on the object. She vividly remembered the feel of Tristan's hands brushing against her skin as he placed it on her, goosebumps and shivers overtaking her body with the contact. She took in the way his eyes seemed to reflect the sparkles whenever he looked at it. Shaking her head slightly, she refused to believe her reluctance to remove it had anything to do with Tristan. Admitting such was admitting the control he held over her emotions.

In the clarity that returned in the daylight, and the lucid thoughts forming after sleep, she wondered exactly what had come over her. The war in her mind raging between admission of her feelings, and refusal to accept their existence. She reminded herself silently of the night before, unable to accept the inklings of attraction she was forming, blaming them on the magical events of the night. She was moving too fast, letting her emotions take over the domain of her rational behavior. She was not accustomed to the complete and utter loss of power, fighting the spinning of her thoughts and the downward freefall she was learning to recognize. Thoughts of her conversation with her mother crept into her head, knowing in her gut it had somehow surrounded her feelings for Tristan. She tried unsuccessfully to recall the exact wording, chalking up her failure to retain information to the lack of caffeine in her system. Whatever she had said, she was sure it was uttered out of exhaustion, her mind clearly not thinking things through. Her mother of all people should understand the insanity that resulted from excessive lack of coffee. 

She reached her hand up, tucking the necklace back under the collar of Tristan's shirt. Looking down on her outfit, she pondered the option of changing out of the shirt and shorts. The intimacy of wearing his clothes was unconscious to her, the same material that touched his bare skin still clinging to hers. She had other clothes she could change into, but didn't, deciding against delaying her caffeine intake. The shirt and shorts were an comfortable fit, covering her in the comfiness of their worn condition. Besides, wearing his clothes meant nothing to her, so why should she feel forced to change from them.

She frowned slightly at her thoughts, amazed that in a few short minutes after waking up she was already thinking of Tristan and what effect he had on her. Shaking her head, she refuted the idea that he meant anything to her beyond a friend. Denial. It was quickly becoming her friend.

As she crossed the floor reaching the door, she prepared herself for the onslaught of questions that would greet her downstairs. As she did, she paused momentarily, mentally clearing her thoughts of all things Tristan, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult. Simple things such as a necklace or a dress could evoke such strong emotions. She again denied the fact that she had a problem, convincing herself that she could stop thinking of Tristan at any second. She could stop wanting to be in his company, stop wanting to see his smirk in the halls, and most importantly, stop feeling the flutter of her heart when he walked into the room. She was beginning to think she needed to enroll in a 12 step program. Tristan-aholics anonymous. She sighed at the thought. She definitely had the denial down. Now what was the next stage? She wasn't quite sure, but she silently prayed that she would find it. She was already treading on shaky ground, dangerously close to wholly submitting to her addiction.

Four cups of coffee, and an hour later, she was still fighting the war against her emotions. Only now, she was battling on two fronts. On one hand, she was defending Tristan, trying to convince her grandparents that he had been a complete gentleman with nothing but pure intentions. And on the other, she was telling herself to ignore the words coming from her mouth, because Tristan was not the great guy she was painting him out to be.

She cast what she hoped were killer glares at her mother, who was sitting across the room, amused by the whole situation. She couldn't help but think her mother was enjoying her turmoil, finally receiving a dose of what her mother went through so many times before. Her grandparents could be completely irrational sometimes. 

"So you danced with him?" 

"I already said that I did." Rory was quickly growing tired of her grandmother's demand for information.

"Was it a slow dance, or a fast dance?"

"I don't remember," she lied.

"Where were his hands during your dance?"

"Isn't this where you cue the stage lighting, casting dark shadows across my face as the criminal faces the interrogation."

Emily ignored her comment, though Rory was pleased to see a smile start to form on her grandfather's lips. She made a mental note to remember that if ever she wanted something from her grandparents, first seek out her grandfather, for he seemed to have a soft spot for her. 

Reluctantly, Rory realized the torture would be over sooner if she just cooperated. "It was a slow dance, music by Faith Hill, I think. His hands were at my waist, mine at his neck, just like you see there." She pointed at the newspaper laying on the table. "When the song ended, the photographer took the picture, we broke away, end of story."

Letting the information settle in, Emily quickly moved to her next topic. "How many beds were in the hotel room?"

Before she could answer, Lorelai jumped in to save the day, deciding Rory had endured enough humiliation for the day, and probably for her lifetime. "Ok Sipowicz and Sorenson, I think you've gotten as much information out of this confidant as you're going to get. How about you release her to my custody and I promise to bring her back in for questioning if any new leads develop?" She walked around to stand behind her daughter's chair, placing her hands comfortingly on her shoulders. She looked back and forth between her parents, a pensive frown on her face.

"What's the matter?" 

"Oh nothing. I was just trying to decide which one of you would be Sorenson. Because you know, Rick Schroeder definitely has a cuter butt than Dennis Franz. But then again, Dennis Franz has won a few Emmy's for his buttwork. Well, maybe not just for his buttwork, but I'm sure that's one of his many assets. Oh, now there's a word that could have so many meanings for this conversation. Ok, I'm stopping that train of thought before I start casting you guys by your butts, not that I've ever thought about your butts mind you." Lorelai shuddered at the thought, ignoring the flabbergasted look her mother was casting her. 

"Lorelai, I'm not finished."

"Well I think Rory is."

"I think she can stand to answer a few more questions."

Lorelai sighed. "Well, Mom, I'm trying to get her out of here before the inevitable 'boxers or briefs' question arises."

"Don't you want to know what went on with your daughter and that boy?" Her voice indicated that she was not buying the innocent gestures her granddaughter suggested.

"No, Mom. I don't. I trust Rory and I'm not going to make her relive last night just to satisfy my curiousity. If she has something to tell me, she'll tell me when she's good and ready." Lorelai motioned for Rory to leave the room, and she happily obeyed, exiting into the hall. "And even if I did, as her mother I have first dibs on the juicy gossip which I plan to extract during the car ride home."

Richard calmly placed a hand on Emily's arm. "I think we've gotten as much as we're going to get. Why don't you give it a rest for now."

Emily huffed. "I most certainly will not. I think I'm entitled to a detailed description of last nights events, given it involves my granddaughter and the grandson of one of our closest friends." She began to stand to follow Rory out of the room. "Rory..."

Lorelai stepped into her path.

"What are you doing?" Emily tried to brush past her, but Lorelai again headed her off. 

"For once in your life Mother, let it go." Her voice was firm.

Emily stopped, aghast at her daughter's tone of voice. Rory decided that now would be a good time to exit the house. She made her way out onto the porch, not wanting to hear the argument ensuing a few feet away.

Rory placed the dress and shoes into the back seat of the jeep, climbing silently into the front. Lorelai was already seated behind the wheel, glancing curiously at her daughter.

"So, how'd you do it?"

Rory looked questioningly. "How'd I do what?"

"How did you sit there and answer those questions without completely gushing about Tristan."

Rory scowled at her mother. "I don't gush about Tristan, nor would I want to."

Lorelai chuckled. "Is this the same girl who only this morning was finally admitting she had feelings for this ogre?"

"I did nothing of the sort." She crossed her arms in front of her in what she hoped was a convincing move, realizing after the fact that it more likely resembled pouting.

Lorelai looked at her through the corner of her eyes. "Oh, then that must be my other daughter. The one who was suddenly falling head over heels for some guy."

"I do not have feelings for Tristan. We're friends. That's all." Her voice sounded unconvincing , even to herself.

Lorelai let out a muffled snort.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's not nothing. Why did you just snort?"

"I was just thinking that you change your mind more often than Ms. Patty changes her cell phone battery."

"Are you saying that I'm fickle?" 

Lorelai pondered the question. "Not fickle. Confused."

"I am not confused." She ignored the dubious look her mother cast her way.

"Then you're in denial."

She didn't respond. 

"You know, we really need to get you some help. Maybe there's a 12 step program out there that can help you realize your obsession."

Rory's eyes shot to her mother's face, astonished that her mother could read her thoughts so well. "I am not obsessed."

"Denial."

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Ooh, anger. Still in stage 1 dear. Admitting you have a problem is the first step."

Rory turned to face the window, hoping her mother would get the hint.

"That's ok honey. Once you pass step one you move onto step two. Realization that you're powerless to control it."

Rory inwardly cringed at the thought. The truth of that statement stung. For no matter how hard she fought this feeling, she was powerless to control where it was taking her. Unwilling to believe that one person could have this much control over her thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Satisfied that Lorelai had finally dropped the subject, she leaned her head against the headrest, closing her eyes, willing herself to think about something, anything that was not him. 

Tristan threw his keys on the bookcase by the door. His mother hated when he did that, the clinking noise disturbing the quiet mausoleum feel to the entryway. She also feared that he would knick the finish on the extremely over priced antique. At first he had done it for convenience, his keys accessible immediately as he ran through the door. It had since progressed to an action solely done to irk his mother, seizing every opportunity she gave him to make her crazy. 

He bounded up the stairs, seeking the comfort of his room. It was the only place inside his 'home' that he truly felt like he belonged. It contained few aspects of the typical teenager's room, but instead reflected the self few people knew. Mounds of books were stacked neatly in the corner, the overflow from his packed desk and shelves. He never told anyone about his obsession with literature, keeping that piece of information hidden beneath the fake persona. He smiled to himself. If anyone knew of his activities, they would assume he took up reading because she liked it. But that wasn't true. As much as he enjoyed knowing they shared this passion, his love of the arts dated back to his childhood, long before she had entered his life. 

He smiled as he remembered the way she looked last night. She was a picture of pure perfection in the dress, letting herself for once show off her beauty. At first she had been a little self conscious, but as soon as she recognized the looks he cast her way, she quickly gained her self esteem. Unlike most girls he dated, she was not sure of her beauty, not flaunting it to gain his attention. But that's exactly what she did. He couldn't believe that she did not know the effect she had on him. How being in the same room with her wreaked havoc on his control. He remembered how she looked in his clothes, the t-shirt all but hanging to her knees. Even in his clothes she looked like a goddess. 

He yawned as he made his way to his bed, not even bothering to change out of his disheveled tux. The sleep he attained last night was minimal, for every time he started to drift off, she would shift positions in the bed, reminding him that the one person he wanted more than life itself was laying only inches from him. He marveled at his self control, amazed that he had kept himself from pulling her into his arms and placing kisses all along her neck. He smiled tiredly as he fondly recalled waking with her in his arms. While he could still master his actions while he was awake, his altered sleeping state had been unable to restrain the urge to hold her.

No sooner had he flopped on his bed, he heard a knock at the door. He let out a small groan at the interruption to his much needed sleep. Before he could answer, his door opened, both his mother and father entering into the room. He sat up in his bed, staring at them flatly, uninterested in anything they had to say. 

This time, his father spoke first. "Your mother and I have decided that you will not be bringing that girl to any more functions."

Tristan stared down his parents, startled by the conversation, yet somehow knowing this conversation was coming. "What? Dictating my career path wasn't enough for you? Now you want to tell me who I can be friends with?"

"You will not talk to your father that way." His mother's defense of his father was almost comical.

"Ooh, are you going to banish me to my room and take away my toys?", he asked snidely. 

"You are a DuGrey. And DuGreys do not socialize with people of lower class."

"I am?" He faked a shocked expression. "Maybe you should have that tattooed on my forehead to remind me every time I look in the mirror."

"Don't mock us. We're serious about this. You will not bring her around again."

Tristan cast them a challenging look. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Either you'll follow our rules or face the consequences."

He balked at their empty threats. Any time he refused to live up to their perfect ideal, they played the money card. He was so used to this game. Money meant nothing to him and their threats only strengthened his belief that money would end his existence. "She means more to me than your money ever will."

He abruptly got up, purposely brushing shoulders with his father as he passed, signifying the lack of intimidation he felt. He left his room against his parents protests, taking the stairs two at a time. He grabbed his keys on the counter, intentionally dragging them across the wood, leaving marks and chipped paint in their wake. He fled the house and all that it stood for, needing to remove himself from the cold interior as quickly as possible. He hopped into his car, put it in gear, and peeled out of the driveway. He had done this many times before, running from his parents and their constant theories on how his life should be. He had no particular destination, the solitude of his car the only consolation he would need. 

Monday morning rolled around, and Rory found herself sitting on the bus again. The familiarity of her routine provided little comfort for her worries. She was dreading the confrontations today, knowing that everyone and their neighbor had seen her picture in the newspaper. With Tristan DuGrey nonetheless.

She had hidden out in her house most of Sunday afternoon, not wanting to face the numerous questions and gossip floating around town. As much as she loved Stars Hallow, there were just sometimes she wished people there would get a life and stop caring so much about hers. She appreciated their concern, but she was not up for 20 questions with everyone from the produce man to the street sweeper. The number one question on their minds had been 'who is that boy?' Each person had offered a spin on the situation, ranging from Ms. Patty's declarations of Tristan's "hotness' to Taylor's insistance that he was probably a drug dealer. Their incessant prying had confined her to the inside of her home. She even turned down an offer to accompany her mother to Luke's, instead dining on a mixture of microwavable popcorn and Raisinets. Her mother had done a formidable job running interference, using a variety of excuses as to why Rory was unavailable. Rory chuckled a little at the confusion that was sure to ensue on the gossip lines as each person ran out to tell the newest development. Somewhere by now, they should be deciding between Rory skiing in the Alps or having came down with an incurable case of the hiccups.

Arriving at school, she quickly made her way through the courtyard, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. She heard a few snickers and comments directed at her as she breezed through the halls. She wasn't sure why she felt embarrassed over the situation. It wasn't like her to really care what other people thought. And she very much doubted she had ever occupied their thoughts prior to this occasion. She didn't appreciate the stares or the jealous glares cast at her from all directions. If this was what it felt like to be popular, she'd gladly pass on that opportunity.

She purposely walked through the halls, making a beeline for her locker. She turned the numbers on the lock, struggling to open the sticky thing. Balling her fist, she lightly tapped the edge, a trick Tristan had taught her. The door swung open, finally giving her access to its contents. She arranged her locker, taking out the books she would need for first period and returning those she had needlessly taken over the weekend. She stood for a moment, making a mental checklist of all her materials. Satisfied that she had all she needed, she took one last look into the neatly arranged space. Before she had the chance to close her locker, she was greeted by the less than friendly voice of her classmate.

"I see you had an exciting weekend?", the girl accused.

"Good morning Paris," she replied flatly.

"I'm surprised they let a girl like you into a social function like that." Paris's eyes traveled the length of her, assessing her attributes, deciding she didn't like what she saw.

"They weren't checking bank accounts at the door." Rory was anxious to end the conversation before it went beyond their usual banter.

"But I guess Tristan gets anything he wants. I mean, he got you didn't he." The animosity in her voice betrayed the underlying jealousy.

Rory cast her a sideways glance. "He did not get me."

Paris snorted a half laugh. "You know, you almost had me fooled. I thought that perhaps, just maybe, you really didn't have feelings for Tristan. But of course, I was right. I did, however, expect you to put up a bigger fight when he came knocking at your door."

"You're delusional."

"Oh, I am, am I? I'm not the one with my face plastered across the front page, obviously in an intimate embrace with a guy I claim to hate."

Rory raised her voice slightly above normal speaking tones. "There's nothing going on between Tristan and me. We're friends that's all."

Paris scoffed. "Funny. I don't look at my friends like that, nor do I stand so close when we dance."

Rory seized the perfect opportunity. "That's because you don't have any friends Paris. And I'd hope you don't stand that close when you're dancing, cause as I remember it, you can't get anyone to dance with you who isn't obligated by blood relation." She slammed her locker with more force than she intended, and turned on her heel. 

Rory was fully aware of the glares that followed her all that day. Eyes of Chilton students burning holes into the back of her blazer. She tried to block out the snide comments, strategically muttered above a whisper so that she would hear, each one making their mark on her confidence. And Paris didn't seem to be helping matters. Any time Rory tried to refute a story, Paris was right there to add her two cents. 

And it most definitely didn't help that Tristan missed the entire first day of school. It was rumored that he was out sick, a story unsupported by the pictures promoting his glorious weekend. She overheard comments from guys hinting at her bedroom skills, saying she must be something to wear out Tristan DuGrey. She ignored their childish comments, knowing that all they wanted was to get under her skin. And only one Chilton male had ever managed to do that. She had looked for him in the classes they shared together, waiting for him to stroll into the room and defend her honor. Just wanting him to appear and make it all better, make her feel safe like he had managed to do when she was confronted by his parents. Only he never came. Instead, she went from class to class, praying that she would make it through the next hour unscathed. 

Tristan finally made an appearance after lunch. He looked tired, and she wondered if indeed he had came down with something. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, regardless of the fact that being seen together would further add fuel to the fire. She didn't care what they thought. They were friends, and friends were allowed to talk to each other at school. If other students had a problem with that, then it was their own fault. As long as she and Tristan were straight on their relationship, that was all that mattered. Only, she wasn't certain that she was clear on that matter. She saw him turn the corner toward his next class, unable to catch his attention before he trotted off to 5th period. She sought him out between classes, each time coming up short. She had caught his glance once, receiving an encouraging smile. He seemed oblivious to the commotion that was surrounding them that day. Either that, or he was so familiar with being talked about he noted nothing unusual about the day's events. 

In the last class of the day, Rory finally found a moment to exchange a few words with Tristan. They exchanged a few brief pleasantries and she asked about the rest of his weekend. He avoided the topic expertly, using the excuse that class was about to start. They took their seats in the back of the classroom, sliding in just as the bell sounded. Sighs of relief echoed through the class when their teacher decided to wave off lecture in favor of some well deserved study time. With finals approaching, Chilton teachers decided now was a good time to cram as much information into such a short period. The wells of knowledge were overflowing and subject matter was meshing with subject matter. She wasn't certain anymore if the Pythagorean theorem was a math term or a fancy term for a style of writing research papers. The unusual break from lecture was a welcome one.

Nearing the end of class, Rory sat staring at her open textbook, her brain refusing to process any more information for the day. She looked around the room, noting the studious positions of the other students. Everyone was taking advantage of the time, hoping to prove to the teacher that they could wisely use the study time, in hopes that she would be lenient again in the future. She glanced at the front of the room, trying to ascertain her instructors attention to the surroundings. Ms. Hampton had her face buried into a novel of sorts, oblivious to the students before her.

Deciding she was safe, Rory slipped a loose piece of paper from her notebook and jotted down a few words. She folded the slip over on itself neatly. Leaning back in her chair, she discreetly dropped the note onto Tristan's desk behind her. She heard him shuffle his papers, as he reached for the note. Crossing her arms in front of her, she returned to her position over her book. A few moments later she was jutted out of her thoughts by her teacher's sharp voice. 

"Mr. DuGrey, please give me that." She was standing beside Rory's desk, her hand outstretched in front of Tristan. 

Tristan's mind raced, searching for a way out of this. He was shocked when Rory had dropped the note on his desk, for that was so out of character for her. He had just started to open the paper when Ms. Hampton was upon him. He nonchalantly switched papers, instead handing over one of his pages of notes. He was not sure what she had seen, and was hoping he could convince her that Rory had been returning some of his notes. 

"No not that. I want the note that I just saw Ms. Gilmore drop on your desk."

She again heard him shuffle through his papers, searching looking for something to hand over. After a few agonizing moments, she saw Ms. Hampton's satisfied look. Panic struck as Rory realized that Tristan had reluctantly handed over the note.

Ms. Hampton made her way back to the front of the classroom. Rory expected her to make a comment, asking her to stay after class. She was certain she was going to pay in some way for this. She was unprepared for what happened next. Ms. Hampton turned to face the students, carefully unfolding the note. "Well class, it appears that Ms. Gilmore has something very important to say to Mr. Dugrey. Since it's so important that she thought it necessary to interrupt my class, I'm sure we'll all benefit from reading it out loud."

Sheer terror crossed Rory's face as Ms. Hampton began to read aloud her words. Fear froze her in her chair, unable to peel her eyes from Ms. Hampton's form. 

Ms. Hampton flatly read from the paper. "I have your clothes from the other night. Thanks again for letting me borrow them. Did I leave my watch in your car? I can't seem to find it anywhere and I'm starting the think I may have left it on the bed at the hotel."

The room was filled with gasps from some students, and snorting and chuckling from others as the last line was read. Paris shot a look of contempt at her while Louise seemed to be forming a new admiration. 

Ms Hampton's glare focused on Rory. "I trust Ms. Gilmore, that in the future, you'll discuss your extra-curricular activities with Mr. DuGrey outside my classroom." 

Rory's face was burning with embarrassment. She fought against the trembling that was overtaking her body, shaking from a mixture of humiliation and shock. From her position in front of him, she could not see Tristan's face matching her own shade of red. Her innocent words were so easily twisted into something very far from the truth. 

Rory fled the room as quickly as possible, twisting her arm from Tristan's grasp as he tried to stop her. She knew she couldn't blame him for this, but she also knew she couldn't face his cockiness at a time like this. She ran to the bus stop, not even bothering to stop at her locker and exchange books. She held back the tears threatening to fall. This was not something she needed to add to the inner turmoil she was already experiencing thanks to Tristan. She avoided the eyes of everyone around her, certain that by this time tomorrow, every student at Chilton, and even most of the faculty, would be convinced that she was sleeping with Tristan DuGrey. 

Tristan followed the directions scribbled on the napkin in his hand. He knew that this was probably not the smartest move, but he also knew he couldn't let her run away from this. From him. He needed to gauge her reaction, to comfort her and remind her that the asinine comments of his classmates should mean nothing to her. She was better than they could ever hope to be. 

He was tired of running himself. He had spent the night driving around, to no where in particular. Running from his parents. Running from himself. He had been late to school due to his avoidance of his house. He waited until his father left for work and his mother went to her weekly hair appointment before he dared to enter his house. Only then changing into his school clothes and venturing off to Chilton hell

He was surprised at the reaction he received at school, not quite understanding the pats on his back and well wishes from his friends. He didn't understand the impact of his relationship with Rory nor could he fathom why anyone else would even care. He was used to being talked about, being measured up in the halls by the girls. But lately, he had given up his flirting, instead focusing all his energy on one in particular. Perhaps his sudden change in demeanor contributed to the overwhelming interest in his love life. And invariably knowing she was involved had increased their interest in her. 

He pulled his car in front of her house, just as she was climbing the stairs up the front porch. He jumped out of the car, jogging across the lawn. 

"Rory."

She whirled around at his voice, a range of emotions dueling in her mind. She raised her hand to brush away the tears, uttering the first words that came to her mind. "How did you find my house?" 

Tristan was slightly taken aback by her tears. He wanted to pull her in his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her everything would be alright. He wanted to comfort her and let her know that she didn't need them. "I stopped in town and asked around. Someone recognized me from the paper and gave me directions."

"Dammit. Why won't everyone just stay the hell out of my life." She was exasperated.

Tristan was surprised by her language. He had never heard her curse before and somehow the words coming from her seemed out of place. He reached for her arm, but she quickly pulled it from his grasp.

"What do you want?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, obviously trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I wanted to see that you were alright.."

"Yeah, I'm just peachy, can't you tell? What gave it away, the running humiliated from school grounds, or the tears making their way down my face?" She again wiped away the wetness from her cheeks. "Why do you even care?"

His voice was concerned. "Because I don't want to lose you over this."

Rory scoffed at his admission. "Lose me? You never had me. All of the sudden you think you have some sort of claim to me?"

"That's not what I meant," he said calmly.

"Oh, what did you mean? You wanted to be sure I didn't stray too far so that whenever you're ready, I'll be here and waiting?"

"I don't want to lose you as a friend."

Rory looked into his eyes, searching for an answer to her next question. "Is that all we are?"

The idea that she could think that they were more caused his heart to skip a beat. "Is that all you want us to be?"

"Don't answer my question with another one."

"Rory, you know that friendship isn't the only thing I want." He prepared himself for what he knew was coming. 

"Then what do you want?", she asked hesitantly.

"I want you," he whispered.

Rory frowned slightly. "You want me to what? To be the next notch on your belt? To be the next conquest so that you can run and tell your friends what a score you made with Rory Gilmore?"

"You know that's not true."

And in her heart she did. But in her distraught state, she couldn't let her heart take control. "No, I don't."

"Rory, I like you. More than I've ever liked a girl in my life. And I'm so afraid these feelings will not be returned, and I'm not sure I can deal with that."

Rory refused to believe him. "Save it Tristan. I'm not the gullible little girl you believe me to be."

He looked at her, knowing she didn't mean what she was saying, yet unable to convince her it was true.

"Today just proved that everyone else believes it too. Every person in that school thinks you're only after one thing. You never had an interest in me as a person. I was some sort of silly challenge that you had to prove to yourself that you could win. I should have known not to get involved with you." She wanted to stop the words coming from her mouth, but she couldn't.

"I don't care what they think. This is about you and me." He pleaded with her to understand.

"Well I do. I can't be that girl Tristan. I can't be the girl people verbally assault in the hallway. I have enough trouble fitting in at that school without having to worry about what's being said about me behind my back. What do I do when you get tired of me? When you've decided you've had your fun at this game and move onto someone else? Do I just wrap up my feelings and pretend that I haven't fallen for you and life will go on as before?"

He tried to process all she was saying. Was she saying she had feelings for him? He took a chance. "What do you feel, Rory?"

She sighed. "I don't know Tristan. I don't know what I feel. Sometimes I think that I am attracted to you, and other times I want to do nothing but run from you. And I don't think it matters. Because regardless of what I feel, you and I would never work."

"Yes we could." He took a few steps closer to her. 

Her heart leapt as he moved within inches of her. She looked up into his eyes.

"In about five seconds, I'm going to kiss you. I'm giving you fair warning, so if you want to walk away, now is your chance. And if after I kiss you, you still think that there's nothing there, then we'll know."

She stood in front of him, willing for her feet to move. Willing herself to pull away from his mesmerizing gaze. She knew there was something there, and she didn't need his kiss to confirm that. She watched as he searched her eyes, needing to see into her heart. She saw him slowly lean into her, hesitatingly, expecting her to pull away. 

His lips brushed against hers, tentatively at first, awaiting her reaction. The feel of his lips on hers broke her resistance. She began moving her lips against his, responding to his gentle touch. He put his arm around her waist, molding her to him. Her hand grasped the back of his neck, pulling his lips harder against hers. They were oblivious to the fact that they were standing in broad daylight, in plain view of the town's biggest gossips. His tongue flicked lightly against her lips, gaining access as she welcomed him into her mouth. He tilted her head up, exploring the recesses of her mouth with his tongue. He lost himself in her as the floodgate of emotions broke down, fire coursing through his veins. 

Her heart was racing, aware that she was falling harder and harder. In a moment of clarity, she braced her hand on his shoulder, and pushed away. She stepped back from him, looking into his confused eyes. Her breath was labored, matched in urgency only by his own. She took another step backward, unable to break her eye contact with him. It was useless to try to hide the effect he had on her, knowing by his look he was having the same reaction to her. 

Taking another step backward she softly whispered. "I can't."

She turned quickly and entered the house, knowing that if she looked back at him, he would be able to convince her that she could. She shut the door, leaning back against it for support. Her legs started to wobble, and slowly she sank to the floor. Silent sobs wracked her body as the tears she thought she had exhausted returned in full force. 


	5. Disclosure

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Author's Note: I've upgraded the rating to PG 13 due to language and sexual scenarios. I hope you weren't expecting much with this part seeing as you've been waiting forever. I'm still struggling with where to take it and have started adapting other parts of fics to fit this story. So this is what I like to call filler.

****

Author's Whine: This is the part where I get a bit melodramatic. It's very discouraging to come to this board and see that my fics barely muster up 7 reviews while most others get 20 per part. I'm not quite sure why this is. Maybe you hate them entirely, or perhaps you've seen them elsewhere and aren't reading or reviewing them here. Even if you hate it, let me know. But please offer some constructive criticism if you do. I'm getting really tired of writing as is evidenced by how long it took me to get this part out and a little feedback should help keep me going just to finish out this story. And yes, I am 5 years old. Some of this story is a bit angsty as I was in a bad mood while I wrote most of it. And it's not the end, so keep your head up. Now that I've sufficiently griped, here ya go. 

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Part 5

Rory mindlessly flipped through the pages of her history book, seeing the words but not registering their meanings. She'd been trying to study for the last few hours, but nothing seemed to be sinking in. The words on the pages jumbled together causing a mess of information to brand itself on her brain. With finals approaching, she knew she should be putting more effort into this than she could muster. But somehow, today, she just didn't have the strength. She traced her finger along a sentence, watching the black type disappear and then reappear on the other side of her finger. She reversed her motion, seeing that indeed, the same happened when she went the other way. With an exaggerated sigh, she slammed her book shut and threw it next to her on the couch.

Leaning forward, she placed her head in her hands, her hair cascading over her arms and enclosing her face. She rested her elbows on her knees, her palms supporting her sagging head by the temples. Just for a second, she let her mind wander back to the events of the day, a day that in many respects she would like to forget entirely. She cringed when she remembered how it ended, still stinging from her decision. She felt her cheeks begin to moisten with tears that were so common tonight, as her fingers brushed lightly over her lips. 

She heard the doorknob rattle and knew her mother must be home. Quickly swiping the tears with one hand, she reached for her history book with the other, opening to a random page in the middle. She situated herself on the end of the couch, leaning back against the armrest for support. Fastening her fingers around her yellow highlighter, she bit the end of it, trying gallantly to exude an air of studying. She shook her head lightly letting her hair form a curtain around her tear stained face.

She heard her mother enter the room, dropping her briefcase and keys by the door. She was somewhat surprised to hear her whistling. Her mother never whistled. She figured she must be in a good mood from her date with Max, and tried to hide her envy at her mother's joy. 

Lorelai practically skipped through the entryway, her whistling echoing through the room. She listened for a second to the ticking of the clock, synchronizing her tune to it's rhythm. She walked around the end of the couch, placing herself directly behind her studious daughter. Without stopping her whistling, she gently reached up, placing a solitary finger under the collar of Rory's shirt and pulling it away from her neck. Rory squirmed, flicking her hand over her shoulder to brush Lorelai's away. She paused mid tune, then immediately resumed her happy song. Not to be turned away, she waited another second, and again tugged at the collar of her daughter's shirt. 

"What are you doing?", Rory practically growled as she again swatted Lorelai's hand away. 

"Well someone's in a cheery mood tonight." She continued to scrutinize Rory's neck. 

Rory continued to swat away her hands, picking herself up off of the couch and moving to the opposite end. "What's your problem?"

Lorelai was slightly taken aback by her daughter's tone. Shrugging it off to pre-finals jitters, she tried to maintain her humorous self. "I was simply looking for love bites." She flopped on the edge of the sofa recently vacated by Rory. 

"Well you're not going to find any." Rory tried to appear immersed in her history book.

"From what I hear about that kiss today, I should be thanking my lucky stars I'm not a grandmother already." 

Rory remained riveted to her lessons..

"So....," Lorelai began, waiting for her to continue. After a few seconds of silence, she realized she was going to have to drag it out of her. "What's it like to be dating Mr. Popularity? Mr. Suave? Mr. I can walk into a room and all girls fall at my feet."

Rory brushed her hair off of her forehead. "I'm not dating Tristan." She tried to hide the hurt in her voice, concealing it with disdain for her mother's topic of conversation. 

Lorelai shifted on the couch, stretching her legs in front of her. She used her feet to slightly nudge Rory's side, watching as she tried to ignore her pestering. "O.K., so I know you haven't actually gone on a date yet. So what's it called now? Going out? Going steady? Mutual infatuation?"

"None of the above." Her frustration was getting the best of her. She usually avoided this tone with her mother, but somehow today, she didn't have the strength to conceal her irritability. 

"Tristan and I are nothing but friends, as I've told you before. And now I'm not even sure we're that." The last part was mumbled slightly under her breath.

Lorelai crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned back against the armrest. "If you two are not an item, do you mind telling me why that boy left here with half my daughter's saliva?"

Rory groaned and dropped her book on the couch. She pushed herself up from her seated position, and crossed the entry way to the kitchen. She grabbed her favorite mug from the cabinet and approached the steaming coffee pot. The coffee had been on most of the afternoon, and she poured the little that had not evaporated into her mug. With her back to the living room, she didn't see her mother enter the room with a perplexed look on her face.

Lorelai tried to interject a bit of levity into the ever growing tenseness of the conversation. "Please tell me you're not prostituting yourself out for a bit of cash on the side. I know you'd do anything for me not to have to spend every Friday night at my parents, but I will not let you sell yourself to some rich Chilton kid. Though I would have to commend your creativity in part-time employment."

Seeing that her humor was falling on deaf ears, she reverted back to her interrogation. "So what is it with you two?"

"God, Mom. Would you just drop it?" She pushed herself off the counter, heading in a straight path for her bedroom. She was stopped in her tracks when her mother reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. Still with her back to her mother, she felt Lorelai's grip holding fast.

"What the hell is your problem?" She pulled on Rory's arm in an attempt to get her to face her.

Rory sighed and turned towards her. She tucked the strands of her hair behind her ears, and raised her head to look her mother directly in the eyes.

For the first time, Lorelai had an unobstructed view of Rory's face. She was not prepared for what she saw. Her eyes were red and poofy and her cheeks were still damp from the hours of crying. Lorelai took a step backward, releasing her hold on Rory's arm.

Lorelai raised her hand laying it gently on Rory's cheek. "You've been crying," she whispered softly.

"No shit Sherlock." Her voice was mixed with a little defiance, and a lot of hurt. 

In the back of her mind, she couldn't believe she was saying that out loud. She never cursed, especially around her mother. And that statement made it twice today. She wasn't certain what had gotten into her, and she felt a twinge of guilt to take it back. 

But she was fed up. 

She was tired of playing the role of the good little girl. The perfect daughter, who made the perfect grades, and was always courteous to everyone around her. No one ever expected her to act like a normal teenager. For once in her life, she wanted to scrap it all and start over. 

The two Gilmores stood for a second staring at each other over the few meters that separated them. Though symbolically, the distance seemed like miles.

Still not breaking their eye contact, Lorelai was the first to speak. "O.K., who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

Rory's shoulders sagged a bit and her next statement was a bit softer. "I'm still your daughter, I've just had a really bad day."

"Well that's good, cause if this was a really good day, I'd say we need to work a bit on your enthusiasm."

Rory turned and headed into her bedroom.

"I take it you're not in the mood to talk about it?" Lorelai slouched against the doorframe as Rory walked around her room getting things ready for bed.

"Not particularly."

"Do you have any idea when you'll be ready to talk about it?"

Rory paused in turning the covers down on her bed. "Never works for me."

"What is it with this kid that has turned my normally chatty daughter into a barely audible creature who manages to grunt out one or two words at the most?" She switched off the light as Rory pulled herself into bed. She turned and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Hey Mom." 

She turned and cracked the door enough to peek her head into the room.

"I love you," Rory quietly stated.

Rory couldn't see the slight smile on her face as she silently breathed a sigh of relief. "I love you too, honey," she returned, quietly pulling the door closed.

The next few days were a blur as Rory went about her normal school routine. Finals were a few short days away and she tried feverishly to keep her mind on studying. That proved to be a more difficult task than expected as much of her effort was devoted to avoiding Tristan.

Which shouldn't have been a difficult feat considering the perfection with which he was performing the very same task. 

In the few classes they shared together, he managed to sit as far from her as possible, not once casting a glance in her direction. He made an art out of arriving to class seconds before the bell rang, and knew precisely when to dart from his chair at the end of class.

Their avoidance dance didn't go unnoticed by the biggest gossips in the Chilton circle. And one in particular couldn't help but stick her nose in.

"Are we having a bit of a lover's spat?" Paris approached, opening her own locker.

Rory continued exchanging books in her locker, hoping that the voice would just go away.

When Rory didn't respond, Paris turned to face her "Do you hear me talking or has your blinding love taken over your hearing as well?"

"I hear you Paris. And what you're saying sounds like English, but I'm too tired to translate the hostility you're interjecting." She continued the monotonous task of putting her books into her bag.

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." Paris turned to face her own locker and copied Rory's movements. "So tell me. Exactly which side of the bed does Tristan sleep on?"

Rory turned her head slightly, glaring at Paris' profile. "For someone so smart you really can be dense. There is nothing going on between Tristan and I."

Paris gave her a doubting look. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

Rory returned the stare. "Don't act like you care. It doesn't suit _you_."

Paris shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "I _don't _care. If you want to parade yourself around here as Tristan's latest conquest, be my guest. Who am I to stop true love?" She emphasized the last two words with disgust.

Rory looked at her indignantly. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I hear the echo, but I'm too busy translating your lies to listen ."

Shutting her locker with a bit of force, Rory slung her bookbag over her shoulder and turned to fully face her adversary. "I'm surprised you of all people wouldn't remember the first rule of journalism. A statement isn't fact until it is supported by two sources. So just go on believing whatever you want to believe. It just proves how daft you really are."

Paris shut her locker, squaring her shoulders to face her. With a haughty tilt of her head, she proved her point. "I'll do you one better. I have three. One: the kiss at Madeline's party." She paused to let the shock register. "I know you think I don't know about that, but you're forgetting the first rule of adolescence. Nothing is ever a secret when more than one party is involved. Two: the picture of the two of you from the wedding. You can deny it all you want, but a picture is worth a thousand words. And three: you spent the night together in a hotel. Information which you so graciously provided to the entire school. 3 strikes, Gilmore's out. Thanks for playing."

Paris was the first to walk away, leaving a speechless Rory standing in the hallway. It was so unlike her not to be prepared for anything Paris could say. She crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her head to stare at the floor. She tried to process the gravity of what just happened. If Paris knew about the kiss at the party, she was certain the rumors were circulating at record speed. 

She took a deep breath, and started down the hall. 

She took a few steps, realizing that staring at the floor was a certain way to run into something. She raised her gaze to the emptying hall in front of her, her eyes landing on a solitary form a few yards in front of her. She stopped suddenly in her tracks, staring at the tall boy as he shut his locker and turned toward her. 

He took a few steps, his gaze focused on the books in his hand. She stood frozen in her tracks, her feet seemingly weighted to the floor. He continued on his path, finally raising his eyes. Immediately they registered two stunning blue eyes as his feet halted his progress. 

Tristan took a couple of steps backward, widening the distance between them. His eyes never left hers as he willed himself to look away.

She shifted on her weight on her feet, unsure of what to do. Her eyes bore into his, gauging his reaction at that moment. She was somewhat disappointed that she couldn't ascertain his mood. He long ago perfected the ability to hide his emotions, and the barrier was stronger now than ever. 

He watched her falter and her nervousness take over. She opened her mouth to speak, and immediately closed it. Her actions drew his eyes to her mouth, and his stomach twisted with regret. She repeated the action again, trying to find the words to say. Before she had the chance, he turned on his heel and walked away.

She watched his retreating form, a little upset at the abruptness of his actions. She had thought about the first post-kiss interaction, but had never considered the awkwardness of the moment to result in this. She knew better than to expect him to return to his usual smirking self, but turning his back on her was not a scenario she had in mind. 

Adjusting the strap on her shoulder, she continued down the hall, thankful that another day at Chilton was gone.

Tristan wandered through the store, occasionally stopping to flip through the CDs. He picked one out and slipped on the headphones to get a feel for the taste of the music. He listened for a couple of minutes, skimming the first few seconds of each song. He slid the headphones off and hung them over the bracket along the wall. Careful to put it back in the exact alphabetical order, he didn't notice the girl standing behind him.

"You just don't get it do you?"

He whirled around, startled at the voice a few feet from him. "Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?" she firmly questioned.

Tristan cocked his head slightly in puzzlement. "Do I know you?"

The girl's confidence wavered slightly as she momentarily broke eye contact. He could not see the nails digging into the palm of her hand to give her strength for this conversation. Nor did he notice her follow him into the store and hover behind him a few steps, mentally preparing herself to approach him. 

"No, but you should make a point to get to know me." She was discouraged to hear the shaking in her voice, certain that her nerves would take away from point of this conversation. This was something she never dreamed she would gain the audacity to do. Yet here she stood. Facing this boy of mysteries. This boy who was undoubtedly the most attractive creature she had ever laid eyes on. This boy who held such a grasp over Rory's emotions. And she was willing to bet he was as oblivious to that power as she had been to his feelings.

Tristan's confusion persisted. He looked at the strange girl in front of him, trying to place her among the snooty kids of his parents' friends. But that didn't fit. She didn't appear haughty, and in fact, seemed a little out of her league. He noticed her timidity, not at all characteristic of someone accustomed to accosting him at the mall. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

She waited for him to respond, and when he did nothing but look over her cooly, she debated fleeing from the store before he found out who she was. His very presence was making her a nervous wreck. But if things worked the way she assumed they eventually would, she had a feeling she would be seeing him regularly over the course of her friendship with Rory. And there was no better time to get over her shyness than now.

"Lane Kim. Best friend to the object of your infatuation." Her voice again betrayed what little confidence remained. She watched his reaction for some sign of acknowledgement, and barely caught the low, whispered utterance.

"Rory," he sighed to himself. That's who she reminded him of. The word was spoken in no more than a whisper, and to the passerby, it was likely unintelligible. But to the two of them, there was no denying what he had said. He watched the girl in front of him with curiosity, and then turned back to the row of CD's.

"I didn't realize Miss Ice Queen had a messenger service." His arrogance returned in an attempt to mask his true feelings. "So, what? Did she send you to tell me that she never wants to see me again? Because she seems to be doing a pretty good job of that herself. Or did she send you to inform me of what a jerk I am and why I should be lucky to ever have been in her presence?"

Lane was taken aback by his harsh tone. She remembered the Tristan Rory used to complain about and had a good idea she was getting a glimpse of him now. But he didn't even compare with the Tristan Rory had fallen for. She reminded herself that the sweet Tristan was hiding in there somewhere. Though it was difficult to believe at the moment. 

"She didn't send me. She doesn't even know I'm here." She stared at his back, expecting for him to turn around. When he didn't, she realized what she was about to do was probably best done to his back anyway. 

"Oh, so the good Samaritan in you has taken it upon herself to defend her best friend to the big bad bully?" He glanced over his shoulder at her, and then back to the CD's.

Lane glared at his back. "You don't deserve her."

Tristan stiffened at the statement, knowing fully that she was right. He closed his eyes as her words stung. Choosing to drop the act, he uttered his first cordial words. "I know."

Lane could hear his voice soften and his shoulders slouch, resigning himself to the truth.

"She's not used to your way of life. She doesn't hop from boyfriend to boyfriend and she can't run with the popular crowd." She watched his back. "She's different. And you're moving too fast."

He slowly turned around. "She'd prefer if I didn't move at all." He brushed by her to another rack of discs. 

"That's not true."

He again glanced over his shoulder at her. "Please," he mocked. "Rory Gilmore would like nothing more than for me to just disappear."

She pondered whether or not she should continue. If Rory knew what she was doing, she would string her up and plot a fate worse than death. But ultimately, this was for her own good. "She likes you."

Tristan scoffed. "She has a funny way of showing it."

"She does. She told me."

Tristan turned around. "She actually said that she likes me?"

Lane looked at her feet for a moment. "Well... Not in so many words." She quickly tried to cover. "But she doesn't have to. I've been her best friend for 15 years Some things go without saying."

He looked her in the eye. "I'll believe it when I see the press release."

"Do you know she talks about you all the time? At first she would tell me about the asinine stunts that you pulled. But gradually, the stories began to center around something witty you said, or the way you checked her out in the hall." She paused for her words to set in. "You should know that before your kiss on her porch, she had only kissed one guy. And that guy broke her heart."

Tristan was a bit miffed.

"You've got to give her some time. She only broke up with Dean about a month and a half ago. She's not the type of person to run out kiss someone else when she's still hurting." She noticed his confused look.

Any credibility he had given her disappeared with her last few statements. She didn't know about the kiss at the party. If she knew Rory as well as she claimed she did, she would have known something as vital as that. He looked her directly in the eye. "Who put you up to this?"

Lane cast him a perplexed look. She noticed the change in his demeanor and feared he was returning to his hostile ways. Looking her directly in the eyes caught her off guard. She stammered a moment before she was able to form a coherent sentence. "What do you mean?"

He put back the CDs he'd been rummaging through. "Was it Tom? He's been pissed at me ever since his girl dumped him."

Lane continued to stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

He mistakenly assumed that her faltering was due to being caught at her game. "Drop the act, I know what you're doing." His voice was sharp and pointed. "One of my friends sent you here to trick me into thinking that Rory had feelings for me, so they could watch as I make a fool of myself pawning after her. It's not going to happen because I'm not falling for that."

Lane crossed her arms over her stomach. "I... Um... I don't know any of your friends, and I certainly wouldn't do anything to hurt Rory. She's my best friend."

He took a few steps closer to her, watching her eyes dart from his in anxiety. "You blew your cover. You're not Rory's best friend. Because if you were, you would know that what you just said was a lie." He began walking out of the store.

Lane took a few steps and called after him. "I don't know what she sees in you."

He stopped for a moment, slowly turning to face her. Deciding to play off of her shyness, he walked back to where she was standing and leaned into her. He waited as she did everything to avoid looking at him. When she finally looked back at him he spoke. "If you are her best friend, then I've got news for you. That kiss on her porch was not her first non-Dean kiss." He emphasized the name with his snide tone. "I suggest you check your sources."

And with that he walked out of the store, leaving a stunned Lane in his wake.

Rory walked through the door to her home, softly shutting it behind her. The squeaking of the hinges echoed through the unusually quiet home. She leaned her back against the hard surface, bracing herself with it's sturdy structure. She'd practiced the movement many times, a tired gesture from the pains of one long day. And she had had many while attending her school, which she lovingly referred to as hell. Her bag slid off her shoulder, landing with a thump on the ground. She released an exhausted sigh as her shoulders slouched in defeat.

Making her way into the kitchen, she stumbled across the tiled floor, collapsing in the first chair. With much drama, she leaned forward, placing her forehead on the table. She slightly raised her head from the table, only to return it with a little tap. She repeated the motion, and before she knew it, her incessant head thumping was casting a hollow, rhythmic noise through the kitchen.

She vaguely heard Lorelai enter the room, her head thumping drowning out the footsteps on the linoleum. 

"I'm sorry, I need a refresher course on head Morse code. Was that 'I want pizza for dinner', or 'the neighbor's cat is on fire'?"

Rory let out a little moan in response.

"Chilton really that bad today?" As she had done many times before, she attempted to console her gloomy daughter.

"Worse." The word came out a mixture of a sigh, a whine, and for dramatic effect, a cry.

Lorelai paused, expecting Rory to at least lift her head from the table. But she didn't move. She stared at the brown tresses of her daughter's hair, splayed over her arms and across the table. 

"I can't believe they actually did it?" Her voice was muffled by the fact that she was speaking into the wood of the table. 

"Did what?", Lorelai inquired. Sensing she was in for a long discussion, she grabbed a half eaten package of skittles from the counter and took a seat across from a distraught Rory.

Rory sighed, realizing any attempt to hide her frustration would be futile.

She raised her head slightly from the table, making sure what she was about to say would be clear. She didn't think she could repeat the words a second time. "They nominated me." 

Lorelai waited for her to continue. "For...", she prodded.

"For the worst thing I can possibly think of."

"They nominated you to be the person that wipes up all the sweat from the gym floor? Those boys look cute in their skimpy uniforms, but boy can they sweat."

"Worse." She was whining like a five year old.

"Ooh. Worse?" Lorelai perked up.

She raised an eyebrow at her mother's enthusiasm. "Much."

"As much as I adore your one word answers, can you please elaborate on the issue? We're paying good money for you to be educated and I expect to be forced to dig out the thesaurus at least once during this conversation."

Letting out one final sigh to relay the gravity of the moment, she confessed her worst fear that was now reality. "They nominated me for Founder's Queen?"

"They did what?" Lorelai choked. 

Rory flipped her hand in a girlie fashion. "That's right. You're looking at one of the five lucky girls to be in the running for the coveted position of Chilton bimbo." 

Lorelai stifled a giggle.

"Mom, if you even laugh at me, I'm going to hide the coffee pot."

"Now that's just cruel," she gasped in response. "What exactly is Founder's Queen?"

She took a deep breath. "Every year the founders of the great institution get together to pat themselves on the back and marvel at what an excellent school they've formed. And as part of that tradition, five girls are selected to be part of the Founder's Court, with one being ultimately crowned Queen to reign over the festivities."

Rory's head returned to the table.

"They only did it to spite me. I've gone to that school for six months, and barely half the students even know my name. They just want to humiliate me."

"Maybe that's not true. Maybe they saw your winning personality and thought, she's got queen written all over her."

Rory glared at her.

"Well, just remove yourself from the running." It was a viable option. In theory.

"Can't," she huffed. "Chilton students are not quitters."

"Oh, right. I forgot you went to the only place on the planet with 100% success rates at everything they do." She had never tried very hard to conceal her disdain for Rory's school. 

"And you want to know the worst part?" She couldn't even believe it got worse.

"They have a plaid formal gown for you to wear?"

Rory banged her head once on the table. "They make you attend all these pre-crowning festivities with winners of years past. And they make you take an escort."

"I'm sure there are plenty of guys who would be willing to take you. I'm sure they'd be honored to escort the prettiest girl in the whole school."

Rory rolled her eyes at her mother's naivety. "He has to be an athlete."

Lorelai contemplated for a moment. "You know athletes that go there, right?"

She looked her mother in the eye. "I know one."

"So ask him." Rory glanced at her mother. She really did think it was that simple.

"Can't" She dropped her head on the table dramatically.

"Can't never did anything."

She took a deep breath, raising her head and staring off into space. She was not looking at her mother as she said the next horrid thing. "It's Tristan"

Lorelai let the confession sink in before needling her further. "That's right. He's lettered in tonsil hockey at least 2 years running."

"Mom," Rory pleaded for her not to continue. She was not in the mood.

"And as I recall, my beautiful daughter played his all-star receiver a few times."

She glared at her mother. "It was twice. Two times, Mother. And I'm beginning to regret that I ever told you about the first one." She sighed. "I haven't spoken to him in about a month."

Lorelai pondered for a moment. "Maybe he orchestrated this whole deal, knowing you'd have to ask him, therefore, making certain you would have to speak to him again. Just so that you and he could get back on speaking terms. His peace offering."

Rory rolled her eyes. "You give him too much credit."

Lorelai stood and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Aw. My baby's going to be royalty."

Rory sighed. "I'm royal all right. Royally screwed."

**__**

End Part 5


	6. Roadblocks

****

Author's note: Thanks for the feedback you so graciously bestowed. This story doesn't deserve it in the slightest. I have finally figured out where I am going with this story. Just be patient. I wanted to make this part a bit longer, but I thought that since I got this far, I would go ahead and post to let you all know that I hadn't forgotten about it. This is what I like to call fic without substance. i.e. filler. As for those death threats I've received (well, not entirely death threats), let's just remember I write for my own pleasure above anyone else's. So I sound a bit selfish? Tough cookies.

Also, for the most current updates, or progression on the story, be sure to check out our website. It's listed in my profile, Der.

**__**

Part 6

Shuffling her feet on the ceramic tile, she hovered, waiting patiently for the hallway traffic to clear. She stood for a few moments, bumping into her peers as each hurried past, trying to make the most of the five minute break. Seeing a brief opening in the bodies, she weaved her way through the crowd at last able to come face to face with her metal home. Her fingers deftly spun the combination on her locker as she rolled her eyes at the gaudy decoration gracing it's front. Apparently some overly-caffeinated member of the spirit club thought each court member and escort needed further humiliation by announcing to the entire school that they were the chosen ones. As if she needed any further help in the embarrassment department. She had tried to dispose of the awful piece of "art" in the parking lot dumpster, only to have it replaced with another crisp and proper design within hours. After a second attempt with the same results, she had finally given up, resigning herself to the fact that humiliation at this school would be a constant presence.

Finishing out the combination, she swung open the locker door, not bothering to catch it as it opened wide, banging into the front of the locker next to hers. She didn't care much that her action slightly crumpled the identical decoration plastered to the front of Paris' locker. 

The irony of their situation almost made her laugh. In the history of the Founder's Court, no sophomore had ever been selected to the prestigious position. Even though in theory, the court was open to all students, nominations tended to fall to the elite seniors of Chilton's student body. Yet for some unknown reason, this year two had been chosen. And at least one of the nominees was taking this seriously.

Paris had been ecstatic when she had been selected, finally having her hard work and effort pay off for something. She viewed the nomination as an honor, bestowed upon her by the students and faculty who respected her for what she did. She had visions of going down in the books as the first to break tradition, transcending the elusive glass ceiling looming over her peers. Her fantasy world came crashing down the moment she found our Rory had also made the Court. The honor of being the first sophomore nominee in history had to be shared with the one girl who was her competition in everything. 

In a way, the two were more alike than either would like to admit. Both were intelligent, involved, and in the end, even a bit self-conscious. Had their backgrounds been similar, the two may have actually been friends growing up. As it was, they also had their share of differences, notably in how they reacted to this honor. When they heard the news, Paris had ran home to please her parents with her accomplishments, while Rory had sought out her mother for comfort in her defeat. 

She exchanged the books in her bookbag with those in her locker. Wrapping her petite fingers around the oversized spine of her Literature notebook, she pulled it from it's lodging, using her elbow to swing the locker door back to its closed position. Regardless of her personal turmoils, she still had an academic career to look out for. And on the bright side, this whole ordeal would provide a self-promoting byline on her Harvard application.

Swinging her bag over her shoulder she waited for an opportunity to reenter the flow of bodies. Glancing across the hall, she noticed the decoration still in place on Todd's locker. He at least had the decency to turn it over, the imperfection of the back side relaying his opinion of the childish enthusiasm. His antics made her smile a bit. At least some people had a sense of humor. He was vice president of the sophomore class, all-state high jumper, honor student, and her escort for this weekend's festivities.

She merged with the crowd, blending into the sea of blue plaid. She was satisfied with her decision to ask Todd, and a little astonished at herself that she had mustered the courage to approach him. He was a nice enough guy, sat behind her in economics and often offered his notes on the rare occasion when she missed class. She wouldn't necessarily call him a friend, but a friendly face at that stone castle was not something she took for granted. She had registered the shock on his face the day she asked him, pausing to ask if she was serious before he would answer. For he, like most of her fellow classmates, assumed that she would be asking Mr. Chilton himself.

She briefly looked over at his closed locker, it's bare front seemingly out of place with those surrounding it. Everyone, including her, had assumed that he would be escorting one of the nominees. He was, after all, the be all and end all of what a Chilton male should be. Any of the five girls should be honored to walk into that room with him on her arm. She knew that she herself could not ask him to do this for her, not after the way she had ended things. She half expected Paris to jump at the opportunity when she learned that Rory had selected someone else. However, be it out of respect for Rory, or more likely disdain for Tristan, she had settled on a lesser known, yet equally as attractive junior. Either no one else had offered, or he had declined. For as it was, his locker remained bare.

Adjusting the strap over her shoulder, she shook her head, freeing herself of the traces of guilt and proceeded onward to her next class. 

She pressed harder on her new pen, scribbling furiously as she tried to dislodge the ink from its tip. The harder she fought it, the deeper the indentations became on the notebook paper. Her eyes glanced up briefly, landing on the pacing figure of her instructor as he continued to pace the worn path in front of the class, spouting out the intricacies of supply and demand. Cursing the god of pens, she tossed it into the pocket of her bookbag as she tried to quietly rummage for another.

She was aware that every second another fact that she should be committing to memory passed from the lips of her instructor. She reached deeper into the pocket, turning her head to the front as she strained, her eyes locking with her instructor. He paused his movements but continued to lecture, while simultaneously giving her a scolding look. A flush of embarrassment crept up her cheeks as she futily searched for the non-existent pen. She berated herself for not carrying a spare, foolishly expecting that a pen fresh from the package would perform it's sole duty of writing.

Sparing herself further attention, she sighed and straightened back into her chair. Slumping in defeat, she turned her focus to the monotonous tone of her instructor's voice, intent on memorizing each and every word.

A few seconds later, she felt a light tapping on her left shoulder. In her focused state, she wasn't sure if the gesture were real or imagined. Not wanting to draw the wary eye of the man in charge, she thought it best to ignore the feeble attempt to gain her attention. Moment's later, she felt a brushing up against her arm, as the good Samaritan behind her reached around laying a pen on the arm of her desk. Her eyes brightened as she took hold of the proffered object, uncapping it and testing it on her notebook. The ink flowed freely and she breathed a sigh of relief.

When she was certain she was free from the evil stare, she turned her head away from the instructor, briefly facing her savior. She smiled timidly, mouthing a silent 'thank you', receiving Todd's confident smile and nod of the head as acknowledgement. She turned and faced front, feverishly writing the tidbits she had picked up earlier. 

Smiling slightly, she thought to herself. Maybe this making friends thing wasn't such a bad idea.

Minutes later, the shrill bell rang out, effectively ending another hectic school day. Rory stood from her chair, reaching down and swinging her bag up onto her seat. She gathered up her belongings, shoving her notebook and text into the already exploding back, she zippered it shut, eyeing Todd as he did the same. 

Stretching out her arm, she returned the pen to it's rightful owner. "Thank you for that. You're a lifesaver."

He smiled a sweet, but confident smile as he accepted her offering. His dark brown locks were styled neatly in short cut and his darkly tanned skin contrasted with the blue blazer. Having been a track athlete for years, the time spent outdoors greatly helped his complexion and the exercise undoubtedly toned the muscles his jacket hid. He stood a stout six feet tall, his eyeline about even with the top of her head.

Shoving his books comfortably under his arm, he tried his hand at witty humor. "Well, I was only aiming for GPA-saver, but I'll take the upgrade."

He turned and headed for the door, holding it back as he allowed her to pass. She graciously thanked him, and started in the direction of the main door. 

He fell in step beside her, shortening his strides to let her keep up the pace. "Can I ask you a question?"

"It's a free country." She smiled .

He was silent a moment, as if trying to find the right words. "What's the deal with you and DuGrey?"

She was taken aback by the question, her shock causing her to hitch her step. Recovering quickly she pressed on down the hall. "Ask me anything but that question."

Sensing her reluctance, he decided to test the bounds of their acquaintance and pressed onward with the unpopular topic. "No, really. Is there something going on there that I should know about?" He watched her face for any telltale signs. "It's just that ever since you asked me to this soiree, I keep looking over my shoulder, half expecting him to come out of the shadows and deck me for socializing with his woman."

At that , she all but stopped in her tracks. She knew that their relationship had stirred questions among the inner circles, but she had never prepared herself to be asked point blank about the situation by anyone other than Paris.

She stumbled over the words, as she thought of the best way to convey the situation. Had it been anyone else, she would have been appalled at his audacity. However, since he was doing her this favor, she thought he had a right to ask. "We're not together....we never were." She paused briefly and continued. "We were just friends, and now...." she drifted off. Quieter she uttered, "Now I'm not sure."

He gave her the once over with his eyes. "Well, I find it all very fascinating. It reminds me of one of those angsty soap operas." He waved his hands in the air as he spoke. "Boy likes girl. Girl hates boy. Girl falls for boy but won't admit it to herself. Girl and boy just can't get it together." He watched her eyes, seeing a slight flash that confirmed his guess. She remained quiet as he continued. "And let's not forget the scorned and jealous wife. The girl who has loved the boy all her life, only to have him stolen by the sweet newcomer. It's all textbook, I tell ya."

Rory flushed as the problems in her life were simplified into a few sentences. Sensing her aversion to the conversation, he quickly changed the subject.

"I'd offer you a ride home but we've got a meet tonight."

She shook her head knowingly. "Oh, that's O.K. I don't mind the bus. It gives me a chance to wind down a bit before rejoining civilization." As insane as it sounded, it was true. The bus ride home was generally pleasant with few distractions to lull her out of her trance.

They reached the main entrance. He reached out, opening the heavy oaken doors and repeating his earlier gesture. His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he ushered her through. She was aware of the physical contact, but also noticed the lack of sensation his actions brought. There was no tingling, no burning sensation where his body met hers. She wasn't certain whether she should be alarmed or relieved at the revelation. 

"So." He paused at the base of the steps, knowing they had to part ways as she headed for the bus, and he for the practice field. "We probably should work out the details of this shindig, don't you think?"

She turned her body to face him, adjusting her bag to a more comfortable position over her shoulder. Tilting her chin up to meet his eyes she smiled. "I was hoping we could kinda wing it."

He glanced over her shoulder for a moment before his eyes settled back on hers. "That would be fine with me, but I think I should at least know when and where to pick you up."

She shifted her weight on her feet. "I guess that would be a good idea." She reached into her bag, pulling out a scrap of paper. Forgetting that she didn't have a workable pen, she laughed as Todd waved the pen teasingly in front of her. 

"Perhaps you should keep this." 

She took the pen, scribbling down her digits onto the scrap. "Here's my phone number. Call me sometime tonight after you get home, and we'll get everything worked out.."

He took the note, shoving it into the pocket of his twill pants. Taking a few steps backward, he called out. "I guess I'll talk to you later then."

She nodded her head in agreement, as both turned and walked in their separate directions.

hr width=75%

Tristan angled the car into the lot, pulling in smoothly next to pump number five as he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop. He threw open the door, hopping out, and kicking it closed with his foot. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the Visa his parents had given him, swiping it through the reader on the machine. 

He hated buying gas. It was one of those activities that seemed pointless, because no matter how frequently he filled up, he knew that he would have to do it again in a few days. It was futile really. His father's car guy had offered to take it out on the evenings that he did his father's cars, but Tristan politely refused. The maintenance guy was a good friend to his parents, and he didn't need him reporting back to them, mileage sheet in hand. So instead, he resigned himself to doing the dreaded task on his own.

His parents would have a hissy fit if they had any idea how much time he spent out driving. He didn't go anywhere in particular, mostly driving to calm his nerves, or simply take him away from his facade of a home. Occasionally he would find himself wandering through the small town of Stars Hollow, quickly catching himself before he would be recognized. He knew that was unlikely since his visits usually happened well into the night, at times when he couldn't get her out of his thoughts and needed to be somewhere, anywhere close to her.

He busied himself with the task at hand, reminding himself of the promise he had made. The promise not to think, speak, or relive anything having to do with Rory Gilmore. A vow that was easily broken.

He returned the handle to it's place, making certain to replace the gas cap and shut the small door. He reached over and grabbed the receipt. Opening the door to his car, he swung his leg in, pulling himself into the plush interior, and shutting the door behind him. Out of habit he leaned across the passenger seat, flipping open the glove compartment and adding the receipt to the stacks of others hidden within. In his swift movement, he dislodged a black box, sending it to the floor with a soft thump. 

He reached down, grasping blindly for the object that had managed to bounce under the seat. Encountering it with his fingers, he wrapped his hand around it, pulling it from its hiding place. As he returned it to the glove box, its shape and writing caught his eye, and he stopped his movement, instead pulling it to him. 

Opening it slowly, he ran a finger over the velvet lining, still indented from the necklace that belonged inside. He hadn't seen it since that night, the night when he had placed it around her neck His mind returned to thoughts of that night, a barrage of feelings and emotions betraying the promise he had made to himself, unable to control the wave of nostalgia as it flooded over him. He could see her in his mind, passing before his eyes in a sea of red, her smile sending shivers through his spine. 

He had barely spoken to her since that fateful night on her porch, still not certain of his next move. He had told himself to forget her many times, but his mind and body refused to let go of the one thing that had been pulling him forward. She had made it clear that night that she could not, or rather would not get involved with him. Yet part of his heart held a shred of hope that time would change her mind. And he was willing to wait as long as it would take.

The beeping of a car horn jolted him out of his reverie. An impatient driver hovered behind him, waiting for him to vacate the pump. Snapping the box shut, he threw it back into the compartment, shutting the door, and vanishing it from his sight. With one hand he pulled the seatbelt over his shoulder, fastening it into place while his other hand turned the key, then shifted into gear as he pulled away. 

Flopping onto the sofa, Rory grabbed her history notes and began the monotonous task of highlighting. She glanced across the room at her best friend, curled up in a chair with the latest issue of Cosmo. On the eighth of every month, like clockwork, Lane would appear, ready to delve into the latest issue of her guilty pleasure. Mrs. Kim prevented her from reading such trash, and was in fact, the instigator in having all such magazines removed from Doose's market. Luckily for Lane, the Gilmores had an unending subscription to the forbidden fruit. 

She was deep into one of the quizzes when she felt Rory's eyes upon her. She looked up, only to catch Rory's gaze focus back on the notes in front of her. Things had been awkward between the two since her encounter with Tristan. An encounter that Rory remained unaware of its occurrence. She was most likely confused as to what had changed, but knew without a doubt that something was noticeably different. 

Lane had wanted to confront her about the information she discovered that day, to ask what Tristan had meant about the non-Dean kiss. She couldn't bring herself to broach the subject, knowing that in doing so she would reveal herself to Rory. She didn't know how Rory would react to her having approached Tristan, but instinct told her it would not be pretty. Especially if she ever came around to the realization of Lane's motives. Instead, a momentary awkwardness grew between the two, increasing emotional separation between them.

Rory's head shot up, her eyes darting around the room. "Do you hear that?" 

Lane looked at her puzzled. "That mumbled sound? Isn't that your phone?" She was used to the scavenger hunts that ensued each and every time the Gilmore phone rang.

Rory held a finger to her lips, shushing her as she stealthily moved about the room. With each distant sound, her head turned in a new direction, pinpointing the location of the desired object. On the next ring, she plunged her hand into a basket of folded clothing, emerging with phone in hand and smile of triumph plastered to her face. Lane grinned knowingly. 

Rory's fingers pressed the keys, ending the now shrill ringing of the phone, placing it to her ear. "Hello?"

Lane half listened to the conversation taking place at the opposite end of the room. She had gathered enough to know that the caller was none other than Todd, Rory's escort to this weekend's festivities. She heard Rory's voice change, overcome with a sound of panic and concern. Looking up from the magazine in her lap, she saw her eyes widening and look of anxiety spread over her face. Watching with concern, she listened as Rory wished him good luck, and apologized for something Lane had yet to figure out from the one sided conversation.

Clicking off the phone, she threw it to the side, turning to face her best friend. 

"Is something wrong?," Lane quickly prodded as soon as Rory had set the phone aside.

"Todd tore something in his knee today. Something about miscalculating his approach, jumping from the wrong spot, and landing awkwardly on the bag. His leg twisted the wrong way and now he's torn something." She slouched back against the couch. "They did some tests and scans tonight to confirm the damage, and they're keeping him at the hospital until they decide what they want to do. He's most likely having surgery of some sort over the next few days."

Lane's face contorted as she thought of the pain he must be in. "Wow. That sucks for him."

"Yeah," she agreed.

"And sucks for you," Lane added.

"Yeah." Rory was finding it difficult to form more than one word sentences. The big night was less than forty-eight hours away, and her escort was taking an unfortunate detour through the hospital. She needed another escort, and had very little time to seek one out. 

A few moments passed as Rory stared at the coffee table, and Lane watched her intently, Lane finally breaking the silence. "What are you going to do?" She knew that Rory was not looking forward to this event in the first place, and this added inconvenience was not likely to help in the enthusiasm department.

Rory sighed heavily. "I'm going to have to find a new escort."

Lane looked her over quietly, pressing forward with the issue. "Have anyone in mind?" She knew that Rory's contacts at school were minimal, and her only likely option was going to be Tristan.

Rory breathed deeply, speaking out loud, but addressing herself more than speaking to Lane. "I can't ask him. It would be too weird."

Lane shifted in her seat, tossing the magazine to the side and bracing herself for the conversation she was delving into. "Who? Tristan?"

Rory shrugged her shoulders. "He's the only other guy I even know."

Lane anxiously anticipated her response to the next question. "Why would it be weird." She was watching her words carefully, seeing to it that Rory was leading this conversation. 

She scooted forward on the couch, planting her feet on the carpeted floor. "There's too much history there. Too many old wounds I don't want to open." She picked up her empty coffee cup, standing and making her way to the kitchen. She headed straight for the coffee pot, it's endless supply welcome at a time like this. While she refilled her cup, Lane sat in the other room, forming the words for her next statement in her mind. She heard her call out.

"What do you mean by history? I thought you guys only went out that one night."

A small wave of guilt passed over her as she took a sip from her mug. She had never taken the time to tell her best friend about that first night with Tristan. She had been so busy crying on the way home, she hadn't been able to form a coherent word about it. And Lane respected her enough not to pry into the matter. She knew she would tell her when she was ready.

Only she hadn't. Days had turned into weeks, and still Rory had not enlightened her to the other aspects of the Tristan/Rory dynamic. As time passed, she found it harder and harder to bring up the topic out of the blue, and convincing herself it wasn't an important issue in the first place. She had let something slip once during her wallowing over Dean, cluing her astute mother into the night's happenings. Her mother had been taken aback, not sure how to process that her sensitive daughter had been fraternizing with the enemy. But the secret had remained between the two of them. 

She couldn't keep it secret any longer, and decided it was going to be now or never. Inhaling deeply, she trudged back into the living room, prepared to spill her deepest and darkest secrets to the person who thought she knew them all anyway. 

**__**

End Part 6

End note: Yes I am well aware that most high jumpers would be so sound in their technique that they would not make a simple mistake as I have made him commit. I'm just trying to find the easiest way to not drone on and on. As for the medical aspect, I could have gotten into that a lot further too, but I highly doubt anyone would like to read the medical jargon I have to sift through every day. 

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Though highly undeserved.


	7. Replacement

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: _I'm thinking of renaming this "the neverending story" because that seems to be where it's headed. This part is completely unedited. Written in the span of 24 hours, and I didn't go back and add filler like I usually do. Why? Because I wanted to get it out there. I still reserve the right to go back and make some edits for content later. So feel privileged you're seeing the unmarred original. And after rereading the last 2 parts to remember where this story was, I realize I have contradicted myself so many times in regards to feedback that I'm not even saying that word. Do it if you want to. Or not. _

****

WARNING: _Big cliche ahead. Will probably read like many other fics. I didn't intentionally steal anyone's scene. If it's too much like another story, I apologize._

**__**

Part 7

She wiggled herself further back into the chair, bringing her feet up to rest on the edge of the plastic seat. Leaning forward slightly, she used her free hand to pull down the edges of her shirt, spreading the material so that it wasn't bunched along her back. When she was a bit more comfortable, she met his eyes again. They'd been staring at each other for a good while, neither willing to give an inch to the other. Squinting her eyes and looking a bit harder, she sought any sign to tip her off to his true feelings. But he was an expert at hiding things, and the glassy stare returned her way gave nothing away.

She briefly broke contact with his eyes, looking down to her hands for a few seconds, and then back up to his stare. And when she did, she finally saw it. A hint of amusement glimmered in the corner, giving her the slightest bit of hope that her intuition was correct. A grin began to spread, and realizing he had given too much away, his eyes immediately darted around the room, searching for another object to focus on. Taking his action as further confirmation that she was right, she inhaled deeply before she finally spoke. 

"Do you have any fives?"

His face brightened at her question, a full-fledged smile breaking through. He took joy in watching her squirm, his confidence forcing hers to waiver. "No," he said firmly. "Go fish."

She looked him in the eye again, watching and waiting for it to come. Challenging his statement she blurted out. "You're lying".

His eyes opened wider. "I am not."

"You are so." She grinned. "Your eyebrow twitches when you lie."

He guffawed in indignation. "It does no such thing."

"It's doing it again."

"You're delirious."

"I'm not the one on narcotics," she countered.

He broke their stare again, focusing on a spot on the starch white wall across the room. Mentally debating his options, he thought about calling her bluff. Without turning his head, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and he caught her gloating countenance. Realizing defeat, he hung his head solemnly and handed her the card. "Please have pity on me. The drugs are making me do it. I'm just not myself tonight."

Rory smiled genuinely as she arranged her cards in order, declaring victory yet again. "If you weren't lying there in a hospital bed, I'd run you through the gauntlet. As it is, I'll let it slide this once. But don't expect the same lenience in the future. " 

"You are too kind, oh queen of the cards." 

Pulling himself up further on the bed, Todd grimaced as he strained his knee in an awkward position. Rory was gathering the cards and caught the look of pain.

"Are you O.K.?"

He leaned forward and carefully put his leg back in a less painful position. "Never been better."

"You know, if you really didn't want to go with me you could have just said something. Staging this whole injury thing may have been a bit much." Thinking for a minute, she continued. "Actually, can you show me how to do that? I think I'd rather be in the hospital than at that formal."

He smiled at her light attempt at humor. "You mean I didn't tell you how this all happened?"

She shook her head.

"You know those escort buttons the Founders committee made for all of us?" He waited while she acknowledged the gaudy piece of work. "Well I was so proud of that art that I decided to wear it with my track outfit. The color brings out the green in my eyes. Apparently I didn't take into account how fabulous I look while wearing it, because the entire girls track team couldn't take their eyes off of me. And I was so flattered, I was waving to them when I tripped over my own feet sending me sprawling across the asphalt. I'm a victim of my own vanity."

Rory watched him amused. "And I'm sure the graceful fall only added to your appeal. Are you sure your inflated ego didn't make you a bit top-heavy?"

"I can't help it I'm such a stud."

Rory rolled her eyes. 

"So, have you found a suitable replacement for me?"

"Aw, Todd. You know you're irreplaceable."

He looked at her evenly. "You're not helping the ego issue."

She fanned herself with her hand. "Being in your presence has made me lose all train of thought."

He threw one of the small stuffed animals at her, bouncing lightly off her shoulder. "You should just ask him."

Feigning ignorance, she averted her eyes. "Who?"

"The Dali Lama."

"You think he's free?"

Giving it a moment's thought, he responded. "I'm sure he could pencil you in. But be certain you check with his social chair to see what he's wearing. I'd hate for the two of you to show up in the same dress. I doubt the Founder's committee looks too highly on that."

"Noted." She glanced down at her watch, finally realizing the time. "It's getting late. I should probably get going."

He nodded in agreement. He watched as she gathered her things from around the room. "Really, just ask him." Before she had a chance to counter him, he cut her off. "DuGrey's a nice guy. I'm sure he can put whatever problems the two of you have aside for a couple of nights."

Uncomfortable with his suggestion, she busied herself arranging the items on his bedside table. "Can I get you anything?" Glancing at the low level in the pitcher, "more water maybe?"

"Rory, I'm fine. Really." Realizing she wasn't going to be receptive to his suggestion, he decided to let it drop. "Thanks for stopping by tonight. You didn't have to."

"I know. I just wanted to see that you were O.K."

"And you're verdict."

She slung her purse over her shoulder. "You've got an incurable case of 'I lost to a girl at cards."

"Ouch," he said, placing his hand over his heart.

"Ah, the truth hurts."

He paused for a minute, considering asking what he was about to propose. "Hey Rory?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think we could do this again sometime? Minus the narcotics and tubing, of course."

She smiled at him yet again. "I'd like that." 

"Me too." When she stood there a few more seconds, he motioned for her to leave, knowing the hour was late. "Drive safe."

She made her way towards the door into the hall, grasping the big silver handle. Before she could pull it open, he called out. "Oh, and minus the part where you kick my ass."

She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at him deviously. "I promise nothing."

******************************************************

"I have a favor to ask of you." She looked across the table into the eyes of her adversary. Seeing she wasn't going to get a response she trudged on. "It's about the Founder's thing this weekend." Still no response.

Wringing her hands in front of her, she contemplated the various ways to ask the questions in her head. "As you've probably heard, Todd injured himself yesterday. He blew out his knee and now is laying in the hospital waiting on surgery. And seeing as he was my escort to this thing, I now have no one to share in my humiliation at this weekend's events." She got her first response. 

"I know."

Taking that as a good sign, she continued. "And since it's too late for me to tell them I have no escort, and since I don't know anyone else at the school…"

"You really know how to flatter a guy, don't you?"

She looked down at the table and began tracing a circle with her finger. "I'm sorry. It's just….. Well you see…" , she stammered.

"Can you just say what you're going to say? I don't really have time for this."

She was a little annoyed. "Well, I was wondering, since I went with you to that wedding, I thought maybe you'd return the favor and be my escort this weekend." She looked up hopefully.

"So now I'm obligated to."

"If you really don't want to go, you can just say so."

"And if I do that, I come off looking like an insensitive jackass."

She tried to come up with the words. Her mind was failing her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound like that." 

"Well, perhaps you should think about things before you actually say them."

She was caught off guard and stared back questioningly.

"You said you were sorry, right?"

She nodded her head in agreement.

"Then why don't you accompany me to the janitor's closet and show me just how sorry you are."

Rory's head snapped up. Breaking out of character for the first time she scowled at her mother. "Mom! He's not going to say that."

Lorelai stared across the table at her daughter. She'd been playing the bad guy for the last twenty run-throughs of this charade, helping Rory practice various techniques as to how she was going to ask Tristan to be her escort. "You told me to respond like he would. Get inside his head. I think given his history, that question isn't all that unlikely."

Rory placed her hands on the side of the table, pushing her chair away. The wooden legs scraped against the linoleum, causing shrill squeaks to reverberate through the room. She made her way to the coffeepot, filling her travel mug with enough coffee to make it through the morning. "I'm trying to be serious here. He's my only option. What am I going to do if he says no?"

Lorelai copied her daughter's movements, filling her mug for the short drive to Hartford. Reaching across the counter, she pulled out the drawer in front of Rory. She grabbed a small spoon with one hand, while pouring sugar into her cup with the other. "He's not going to turn you down."

Rory used her hip to push the drawer back into its hiding place. Taking the spoon from her mother, she stirred her own cup before snapping the protective lid into place. "How do you know?" 

She shrugged her shoulders. "Because he wouldn't do that to you."

Rory stood for a moment leaning back against the counter. She took a small sip of coffee, careful not to let it burn her tongue. Setting down the mug for a moment, she crossed the room and picked her backpack off the floor. "You don't know him."

Lorelei pondered the statement for a moment. "I know that he cared enough about you to be hurt when you turned him down."

Rory continued gathering her things. "His ego was hurt. It had nothing to do with feelings," she countered. She stood in the center of the room for a minute, checking off the items on her mental list. 

Grabbing the keys from the counter Lorelai turned to face her daughter. "Well then he'll say yes because he'll get to parade himself around in front of all those rich women. Nothing boosts an ego like rich, old ladies fawning over a nice teenage male specimen."

Rory shrugged her shoulders in indifference. "We need to get going. I don't want to be late again." She made her way to the hall, stopping to adjust her skirt in front of the hall mirror.

Her mother called from behind her. "So, would you do it?"

"Do what?"

Slipping her arms through the sleeves of her jacket, Lorelai mumbled over the bagel protruding from her mouth. "Make out with him in the janitor's closet."

Rory flipped the switches on the wall, immediately darkening the entryway. "Heavens no." She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. "I'd insist on the teacher's lounge."

Pulling the door shut, Lorelai smiled. "That's my girl."

******************************************************

Four periods into the day and she had yet to make her move. He had eluded her in every class they shared, once again arriving late and leaving early. She had seen him a few times in the hall, each time noticing he didn't even bother to look in her direction. He was forever surrounded by a group of his friends, almost daring her to cross that line and approach him, knowing she never would. He was using his entourage as a buffer, and she was really starting to get irritated.

She entered into her history classroom, taking her usual seat in the rear. She was the first one there, as was the common custom. Most other students elected to mingle in the halls until mere seconds before the bell. Apparently they obtained some sort of rush by the prospect of almost being late. She shared this class with him, but she held little hope that he would arrive any sooner than her classmates. Lunch immediately followed this period, and she figured now was as good a time to approach him as she was ever going to get. His seat was across the room, and he would have to pass by her desk to get to the only exit. She'd corner him before he could slip away and make him listen to her. Or so it was the plan.

She was rehearsing her lines in her head when she noticed someone standing beside her desk. 

"My mother's making me invite all of the members of the Founder's Court over to my house for tea." Paris looked at her disinterestedly. "It's on Sunday afternoon, after the crowning. She wants you to bring your escort, but since you don't have an escort, I'd understand if you didn't want to come."

Rory looked at her blandly. "I'll have an escort by then."

"Well, it's at my parent's summer house outside of Hartford. It would probably take you at least an hour to get there. So if it's too far to drive, that's O.K. too."

Rory returned her halting stare. "If you don't want me to come, just say so."

Taking a few steps forward, Paris took her seat across the aisle. "I don't care if you come or not. But it's not like I'll sit up crying myself to sleep if you can't make it."

Rory opened her notes as she heard the bell chime. "I'll be there then."

"I'm ecstatic," Paris replied dryly.

Rory simply sighed in response.

Forty-five minutes and six pages of notes later, Rory took a minute to flex her hand, stretch out the cramping fingers. Her eyes wandered to the clock along the wall, realizing that the bell should be ringing any second. She looked over at his form. He was slouched downwards in his desk, his foot propped on the bar under the seat in front of him. He was chewing on the end of his pencil, staring blankly at the front of the room. He turned his head slightly and looked her way.

He looked at her with an odd expression, the safety of the distance allowing him to study her. He ran his gaze over her, scrutinizing her from head to toe. His appraisal resulted in a look of indifference. She felt a bit uncomfortable, crossing her arms over her stomach and straightening in her chair. Their eyes met in a cool stare, just as the bell sounded signaling the end of the class.

She waited for the instructor to dismiss the class, quickly gathering her things into her backpack. She stood quickly from her chair, never taking her eye off of her target. She was about to make her way to his side of the room when she heard the instructor call out.

"Mr. DuGrey, would you mind staying for a minute after class?"

Tristan acknowledged the request and slowly gathered his things. His gaze briefly met hers, a seemingly knowing look in his eyes.

Rory's shoulders slumped. She turned on her heel and headed for the door. She would have waited for him outside the classroom, but Chilton's rules stipulated that all students must be in the cafeteria for the duration of their lunch period. Her presence outside the door would be noticed in seconds, and she would be corralled with the others down the hall. Any attempt to abandon the routine would be futile.

Surrounded by giggling students, her shoulders bumped with others as they brushed by her. She pondered her options in her head. She had no more classes with him that day, so rendezvousing with him during school hours was not likely. She could try to approach him in the hall, but given his avoidance of her, she doubted very much that she would get his attention. And the short passing periods wouldn't provide much time to broach the subject with the finesse that it necessitated. 

She was running out of options, and she was almost out of time.

******************************************************

Rory bent down in front of her locker, tying the laces on her Oxfords. Looping one end over the other, she double-knotted them so that she would be safe from them coming untied again. Tripping on her laces was just the kind of humiliation that would put a seal on today. 

She swooped up her bag from its resting place on the tiles. It was weighted down with books and notes as her study routine intensified with the waning of the semester. She struggled to pull it on her shoulders in mid stride, careful to maintain her balance as she walked for the main door. Another day had passed and she was one step closer to summer vacation. 

Pulling open the heavy oaken doors, she felt a bit of drizzle as the wind hit her face. Looking skywards, she observed the impending storm clouds, praying that the bus was on time tonight. Throughout her year of bus trips, she'd quickly learned that the schedule depended mostly on who was behind the wheel. She couldn't remember if today was an odd or even day, so the chances of the bus running late were probably fifty/fifty. Trudging over towards the bus stop, she stood to the side, preparing to read from the book that she purposely kept out. 

Breaking out of her trance, she heard loud laughter from the parking lot. Looking up from her book, she scanned the lot in search of the source. She saw a small group of her classmates, gathered around the car of another. Squinting her eyes to get a better look, she realized she recognized that car. One of the crowd peeled away from the others, punching shoulders and yelling his good-byes. With an unobstructed view, her eyes registered on the center of attention. And she was not surprised.

He was leaning back on his car, flipping his keys around the ring on his fingers. He laughed at something one of his friends said, crossing his feet in a careless stance. He looked like he hadn't a care in the world. 

Deciding it was fate that he was still here, she decided to suck it up and make her way to him. Taking the first few steps, her gait lengthened as she mustered her courage to make the trek.

When she arrived at the assembly, only a handful of his friends remained. From her angle, he was facing her direction and the backs of his friends were to her. She stopped a few feet behind them, hoping that he would see her there and she wouldn't have to call out. Boring her eyes on his face, she willed him to look in her direction. She thought he saw her once, but wasn't sure as he quickly turned away. Certain that he would notice her any minute, she continued to stand in silence, waiting for him to make the first move. A few more times his eyes met hers, and now there was no doubt he was aware of her presence.

Seeing that he wasn't going to make this easy and acknowledge her, she knew she had to speak up. She hoped the shaking of her voice wasn't audible to anyone but her own ears. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The sound of a female voice caught the attention of his friends. They turned around quickly to face her, and she could feel their eyes assessing her from top to bottom. She recognized a couple of them from her classes, but doubted very much that any of them knew her name. She smiled slightly and nodded her head as a semi greeting to the others. A couple of them turned back to Tristan and finished a few comments about some party that had been rumored around school. 

She held back a ways as they dispersed in the directions of their cars. She couldn't the looks on their faces as they pulled away, or see a couple of them nudging each other while backstepping and giving thumbs up signs to Tristan. He grinned in acknowledgement, shrugging off their comments. When they were finally alone, his eyes briefly met hers before looking away into the distance.

"What do you want?" His voice was a bit edgy, bordering on hostile. And she couldn't say that she hadn't expected that.

Not wanting to dive right into the subject, she decided to start with a less controversial topic. "Is everything O.K. in history? I know you were asked to stay after class," she started feebly.

"Of course you know, he asked me in front of the whole class." He continued to stare off into space, refusing to meet her eyes with his own. He was either disinterested, annoyed, or hurt. Any of which he expertly hid from her probing gaze.

She stumbled on. "I know but I was just hoping nothing was wrong."

He looked at her doubtedly. When he spoke his words showed little emotion or inflection. "Everything's fine."

"Good."

Shoving himself off of the car he again started circling his keys around his finger. "So is that all?"

Afraid she was going to be dismissed again, she fought to find the words to continue. "No. Actually there's something else." She faltered with the words, her tongue feeling thick as she tried to speak.

He stepped around her, turning his back to her as she continued to talk. Pushing the button on his remote, his car beeped, disabling the alarm and unlocking the door. "I figured there was more."

She continued to stare at his back as he fumbled with his keys and the door. His back was very uninviting, and she realized that was his intent. "It's about the Founder's thing this weekend." He paused and straightened, still not turning to face her. She pleaded with him to turn around. "Can you please turn around so I don't have to talk to your back?"

He turned around, a look of half amusement, half disgust on his face. "I'm sorry, was I not giving you all the attention you deserve?" He leaned against the car with his hip, crossing his arms over his chest in a standoffish gesture. Motioning her with one hand, he snidely said, "please, by all means continue."

She was growing more annoyed by the second. His lack of interest in even talking to her combined with his patronization was grating on her nerves. "You don't have to be such a jerk."

Without blinking he retorted. "And you don't have to be so self-righteous."

Somewhere in the back of her head she knew she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be starting this with the one person who was capable of helping her out of her situation. But the smirk on his face was taunting her, and she wasn't about to stand back and let him get the upper hand. 

She looked at him with indignation. "Where do you get off calling me self-righteous? I've got three words for you. Pot. Kettle. Black. Figure it out."

She turned swiftly on her heel, her hair flinging over her shoulder with the wind. With heavy, determined steps, she purposefully walked away from him. Crossing her arms over her chest to keep out the cold wind, she mumbled under her breath. 

He watched her storm away from him, her hair swinging back and forth with her forceful stride. Sighing audibly, he turned a bit so that his back was leaning against the car. Closing his eyes he cursed himself for being so juvenile. She had taken the first step, trying to cross that gap of hostility that lingered between them. But returning to his antics of junior high, he fought away her attempts at reconciliation for a small sense of personal satisfaction. But all he had done was leave them both frustrated, angry, and alone.

The skies opened up and the rain began to fall steadily. He stepped away from the car, opened the door, and swung his leg in, pulling the door shut when he was in. He picked up his jacket that he had discarded into the car earlier and tossed it in the back seat. Turning the key in the ignition he heeded the seat belt chime and clicked the metal into the receptacle. Flicking on the windshield wipers, he looked forward and saw her sitting at the stop. She was huddled alone on the bench, the rain soaking through her hair and clothing. 

Placing the car in reverse, he looked one last time in her direction, before hitting the gas and dashing out of the parking lot. 

She said on the cold metal bench, figuring it was useless to protect herself from the rain at this point. She debated heading back into the school to catch the later bus, but she knew if she did, the driver would pass on by due to no one being at the stop. So she resigned herself to wallowing in the cold rain. It seemed a fitting ending to the day. Her thoughts were interrupted by someone calling out her name.

She looked up and saw Tristan sitting in his car, leaning over to the open passenger window. She ignored his call to her, and pretended to be focused on something in her lap. 

Tristan glared at her from a distance of about ten feet. She wasn't going to give him any leeway. He'd made it about a mile down the road before cursing himself and turning the car around. Even he couldn't be that cruel. He called to her again. "Rory, will you get in the car."

She didn't respond.

He stared at her for a few more seconds. Reluctantly, he apologized for his actions. "Look, I'm sorry. You were right and I was a jerk. Now please get in the car before you drown out there."

She looked up and meaningfully into his eyes. Just barely speaking, she responded with a firm "No."

Throwing open his door, he climbed out and jogged over to where she was seated. "It's raining and you're going to catch a cold. Get in the car and I'll give you a ride home."

She looked up and met his eye. Again she rejected his offer. "No."

Running a hand through his wet hair, he pleaded with her again. "I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?"

She continued to stare at him. "You said you were sorry, but you didn't mean it."

He stepped a few feet back from her and glared at her. "You know what, you're right. I didn't mean it. I still think you're self righteous and full of yourself. But that said, get in the car."

"Your incorrigible." She hissed. "I wouldn't give you the pleasure of being the knight in shining armor. I'd rather sit out here and drown."

He paused for a moment. "If that's the way you want it." She looked away from him for a minute as he continued to stand there and watch her. A few moments passed and she had relaxed her posture for a split second. He took that opportunity to make his move. Putting his arms around her waist, he began to pick her up off the bench.

She flailed her arms and tried to wiggle from his grasp. "Get off of me," she bit out. 

He ignored her protests and kept his arms firmly around her waist. She continued to struggle but her light body was no match for his strength. He half dragged her, half carried her the few yards to his car. She was flinging her arms and a few times she caught his jaw on the upswing. Enduring her jabs and protests, he set her down and restrained her with one arm while he opened the passenger door. Careful not to hit her head on the roof, he gave her a mild shove to get her in the car. Her struggling had waned a bit, almost resigning herself to the predicament.

Once her limbs were inside, he slid the child safety feature to on, and shut the door. She tried the handle once, and seeing she was locked in, she glared at him through the glass. He stepped back to the bench, fisted the material of her backpack and walked around to the driver's door. Opening it with wide swing, he carelessly threw her bag in the back seat, landing on top of his wrinkled jacket.

He slid into the car and put it in gear. He didn't bother to look in her direction as he hit the gas and lurched the car into motion.

Leaning as far away from him as she could, she practically melted herself to the door. Before they made it through the parking lot gates, she hissed her first words. "I hate you."

In a tone to match her own he replied. "Yeah, well the feeling's mutual."

**__**

End Part 7


	8. Author's Note

Author's Note:

Ok, so I promised myself I'd never do this.  You all know what "this" is.  Posting an author's note as a "chapter" which invariably bumps the story on the server and gets everyone all excited that there is an update.  So let me just say right up front.  I'm sorry.  This is not an update.  Nor did I intend to "bump" this story.  (I would actually prefer it to stay hidden in the depths of the archive so that more people don't email me asking me to finish).  I simply feel that I owe a bit of an explanation as to the drought in this story.  

I have received numerous emails asking me if I plan on continuing this story, and if so, when should you all expect an update.  First off, when I started writing, I promised myself that I would not leave a story unfinished.  I hated it when other authors did that and I know most of you do as well.  So in a way, I'm planning on continuing.  However, if you notice, it's been forever since I last updated (April was it?).  The reasons for this are many.  When I started this story so freaking forever ago, I actually had a genuine interest in Gilmore Girls.  Now, I pretty much don't even watch the show.  I've seen one episode this year and maybe 2 from all of last season.  After the Tristan character was gone, it was difficult to get back into the mode of writing.  And now, I'm so far removed from that show (not to mention in this story Rory is still a sophomore in high school) that motivation is highly lacking.  Secondly, I no longer have free time on my hands.  I started back to school and spend most of my waking hours, and even some that should be devoted to sleeping, reading and studying.  In fact, it's 2 a.m. right now and I just finished with a paper that's due in less than 7 hours.  So needless to say, passing my courses has taken priority over this fic.

Anyway, to make a long whine short, I don't even know if posting author's notes violates fanfiction.net's policy anymore since I've been away for so long.  I'm sorry if it does.  I have the next chapter idea in my head, as well as the general conclusion to the story.  So maybe if I find a few hours over the holiday breaks, I may try to get something out there.  But I make no promises.

Thank you all for your feedback.  It's really nice to know that some of you still read this story even after all of this time.  And I'm sorry I can do no more to feed your fanfic desires.  I'm only human afterall.

Diddlee


	9. Consequences

**Author's note:**  No your eyes don't deceive you.  This is an actual update.  And it only took a year and 4 days to finish it. Sad.  Anyway, if you can remember where this thing left off, then you're doing a lot better than I am.  I had to review the last few chapters, and I'm sure I probably contradicted something anyway.  So just ignore that.  Also, just because it's taken me this long to update, I'm not going to scrap everything and wrap it up in one tiny package just to finish it.  If I'm going to finish it at all, I want it to be done properly.  So if that means it takes a few more parts, so be it.  I hope this part doesn't disappoint since the faithful of you have held on waiting for so long.  

**Part 8**

The occasional squeaking of the windshield wipers as they flew across the glass provided the only sound in the otherwise solemn vehicle.  The rain spattered on the windshield, running to the sides and streaming down the passenger's window.  Blurred scenery faded in the distance, bathed in sunlight as the clouds disbursed to give way to the sun.  Yet the last remnants of the rainstorm surrounded the car, seemingly following them no matter which way they turned.  The dark clouds hanging over their heads mimicked the silence resounding in the car.  It was as if God metaphorically set them apart in their own dreary existence, while the rest of the world continued on with their happy lives.  

And so it seemed to always be.  

His eyes glanced her way for the first time since they got on the highway.  She had her back completely to him, daring him to make a move so that she could bite his head off.  Or better yet, so she could have the momentum of turning if she reached out to slap him.  

Refusing to lift his foot from the gas, he took the exit ramp at a speed well above the posted limit.  He took satisfaction as he saw her turn and her knuckles whiten as she held onto the handle of the door.  Nearing the end of the ramp, he was prepared to ignore the yield sign and merge with traffic without slowing.  Only his plans were thwarted by an unusual backup of rush hour traffic.

He hit the brakes quickly, jarring the car to a halt, inches from the rear bumper of an old Volkswagen.  He heard a thump from her side of the car, realizing moments later that it was the sound of her knee hitting the underside of the dash.  The force of the impact dislodged the door of the glove box, sending the familiar black box, along with a dozen receipts to the floor.  

He felt a bit guilty for his actions, but she was taking it like a trooper.  She refused to break her vow of silence, even to utter a painful "ow" or a deserved curse in his direction.  His guilt was replaced by anxiety the moment she leaned down and reached for the box.  He could see the curiosity on her face, and hoping that the other emotion was not one of recognition, he reached out swiftly and brushed her hands away before she could grab hold.  

"Leave that alone" he bit out.  It was the first words spoken between the two in twenty minutes.  

She snapped her head in his direction, glaring with what could only be described as hatred written all over her face.  She looked about ready to say something before deciding he wasn't worth the effort and shifting back to face the door.  

He was disgusted with the way she was cowering away from him.  More than that, he was disgusted with the way he had been acting that would make her cower like that.  He was a jackass, plain and simple.  

The traffic eased along and he struggled to remember which way to turn once he got into town.  He was hoping it would come to him as he was certain that she wouldn't give him directions if he asked.  She would rather walk home than give him the satisfaction.

As they neared her street, he knew he was on the right track as she began to straighten her skirt, anticipating the moment she would be free from him.  He looked her over, certain she knew he was doing so, wondering what she thought of his timing.  Her hair was still damp from being caught in the rain, and her arms were folded across her chest in a defiant, self-protecting manner.  Her stature indicated one thing clearly.  She was adamant and stubborn, and willing to win this confrontation no matter the cost.

He was certain she had approached him today out of sheer need.  For nothing else would have made her cross the line of hostility he had established with her.  She was nominated to this Founder's Court, and her escort had been taken out of commission at the most inopportune moment, leaving her to fend for herself in a school where she knew no one, and the only person even close to being called her friend was so jealous she bled green.  He felt sorry for her, and the twinge of guilt and shame at helping her into this predicament made up his mind.

He pulled up next to her house, easing the car to a stop.  Putting the car in park, he left the engine running.  The rain had finally stopped and the residual drops glinted off the grass in the front yard.  A car was parked in the driveway, seemingly haphazardly abandoned by the driver.  Its awkward positioning fit well with what he knew of her mother.

Rory grabbed the handle on the door, pulling back and leaning her weight on it to open.  She had forgotten that he had the child locks on, and her efforts got her nowhere.  She didn't say a word, only sat looking straight ahead, assuming that he would have the decency to allow her to escape her mini prison.

Instead he turned to her, sighing a long sigh of desperation.

"Look, I know you need an escort for this weekend."

She didn't respond, still staring straight ahead.  

"What time do you need me to pick you up?" he asked dryly.

She finally turned, looking at him with a look of disbelief.  She then broke her silence with a mocking laugh, her intent to make him feel like a little child.

"I would rather take the neighborhood dog who's blind, deaf, missing a leg, and smells like dead fish than to go anywhere with you."  Her words were unusually snide, and he was sure she meant them.  

 "I figured you would say that," he mumbled as he reached for his cell phone.  His pushed in three numbers, hit the send button, and held it to his ear.  A few seconds passed before he spoke into the phone.  "Hartford Connecticut."  A few more seconds.  "Richard and Emily Gilmore, please." 

A wave of panic hit her as she realized what he was attempting.  "What are you doing?"  Her voice betrayed her.

He didn't answer her, merely looked over at her for a second, and then straight ahead.  

"You're bluffing," she said, just as he spoke a greeting into the phone.  She heard him introduce himself as 'Tristan DuGrey', grandson of the great Janlen DuGrey.  Her wave of panic was turning into full fledged fear as she heard him make small talk with what he wanted her to believe was her grandparents.

She tried to speak again, to tell him to stop acting and let her out of the car.  He responded by unbuckling his seatbelt, opening the car door, and stepping from the car.  He shut the door, walked a few paces away from the car, and turned around to face her.  He was still holding the phone to his ear, staring back at her through the window.

She again tried the door, hoping miraculously that it would open this time.  No such luck.  She was trapped inside the car, watching him through the glass, unable to hear what he was saying, and unwilling to believe he was actually speaking with one of her grandparents.  

A few minutes later he ended the conversation, closing the phone and shoving it back into his pocket.  He walked around the front of the car, and she could have sworn he was walking slowly just to infuriate her.  He grasped the door handle and unceremoniously jerked the door open.  

Finally free from the car, she jumped out so fast she was afraid she was going to fall over on her face.  She smoothed her skirt, tugging on her shirt to get it back into place.  He reached into the backseat of the car, grabbing her bookbag and thrusting it toward her.  She took it from his hands, turned on her heels, and practically ran for the porch.

"Your grandmother said I can pick you up at 5 at their house."

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, her damp hair sticking to her face.  She brushed it out of her eyes and attempted to appear nonchalant.  "I don't believe you."

Deliberately misinterpreting her statement, he defended.  "Well, it was her idea.  She suggested that we leave from there since it's a lot closer than leaving from here."

She guffawed at his audacity.  "You're lying.  You didn't call her, you probably called one of your groupies just to tell them how you had me trapped in your car."

He stared at her blankly and shrugged his shoulders in a 'suit yourself' gesture.

She turned and made her way towards the house at the same time her mother stepped onto the porch.  Lorelai looked first at Tristan with a puzzling glare, and then to Rory.  Rory had stopped halfway to the house when she looked up and saw her mother coming out.  She was holding the cordless phone in one hand, using the other to cover the mouthpiece.  She knew what she was going to say before Lorelai even opened her mouth.

"Your grandmother's on the phone."  

Rory's stomach twisted as reality set in.  Furious, she turned toward Tristan, fully prepared to lay into him with one insult after another.  Instead, the only words that came out of her mouth were the first one's that came to her head.  

"I hate you."

Tristan looked up as he approached his side of the car, looking her directly in the eye.  "We've established that," he retorted.  He climbed into the car and moments later squealed the tires as he peeled away from the house.

Pulling into the driveway of what could only be described as his penitentiary, Tristan eased the car into the garage next to his father's latest acquisition.  Most wealthy men of his father's generation had a penchant for fast cars and fast women.  His father was no different.  He wasn't sure which his father turned over faster, the mistresses or the machines.

He gathered his belongings from the car and weaved his way through the other cars in the garage.  His mother's car was there, which was no surprise since she didn't bother to leave the house on most days.  He entered through the connecting door to the house, taking the back stairs in a rush to reach his room before either of his parents realized he was home.  Opening the thick wooden door, he slipped into dimly lit interior of his bedroom.  

Finally alone to himself, he threw his things in the chair by the door, scurried to his bed, and flopped down with minimal effort.  The softness of the covers felt wonderful next to skin.  He had always loved that feeling.  He rolled over onto his back, towards the dead center of his bed, sinking down in comforter.  He stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling like a little kid surrounded and protected by the comfort of familiarity.  This was home.  

He drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours, wrestling with thoughts and dreams that plagued his mind.   A few times he was awakened abruptly from a dream, finding himself tangled in the covers from his unconscious thrashing.  He was usually either falling, or being chased by an unrecognizable force in those dreams.  Running to get away from something he didn't quite understand.  

By the time he had fully awakened, the sun had completely set and the light vanished from the windows.  Sitting up in be, he flipped on the nearest light and vanquished the last remnants of sleep from his head.  He half stumbled, half walked toward the closet across the room, opening the door to the stench of moth balls and room fresheners.  This was the closet where he kept his 'good' clothes, separate from the everyday garments and uniforms he usually wore.

He grabbed for the garment bag that hung near the front, ignoring the oft neglected clothes further towards the back.  He felt a little bit guilty for holding onto such things that he didn't need and wouldn't dare say he liked.  He made a mental note to go through the masses of clothes and get rid of the ones he absolutely wouldn't miss.  He could give them to a local thrift store, or better yet, a charity that helped the less fortunate to dress successfully for job interviews when they otherwise wouldn't be able.    He was feeling better about himself already.

Unceremoniously he tossed the bag on the bed.  He fumbled with the zipper, peeling away the cheap plastic from the tux.  As soon as he did, he began to smell the lingering stench of smoke.  He had intended to have it cleaned after the last wearing, but he must have forgotten. And then he remembered why.

Because it reminded him of her.   

He had worn it last to his cousin's wedding, and though it seemed silly now, he hadn't wanted to clean the suit and erase the memories of that night.  Didn't want to erase her from that suit.  

Today he knew better.  He would have one of the staff take it to be cleaned overnight.  There was no use holding onto something that wasn't there.  She had slipped from his grasp before, and the sooner he realized that it would always be that way, the sooner he could move on with his life.

His mother's voice on the intercom jarred him from his thoughts.  "Tristan, I need to see you in the dining room."  Her voice was terse and short.  "Now," she added for good measure.  It wasn't a request, it was an order.  One he didn't want to follow but knew better than to ignore.

Minutes later he entered the staunch and overbearing room, the cold façade matching the coldness of its occupants.  His mother was seated at one end of the ornate table, barking orders at one of the wait staff she considered incompetent.  His father sat opposite her, reading the latest figures faxed to him by his accountant.  They were separated by only 8 feet physically, but metaphorically, it was miles.  His parents insisted on upholding the fallacy of a perfect marriage, even if that consisted of silent dinners every night together.  Tristan was not expected to join, not that they noticed anyway.  

He stood silently in the table, waiting for his mother to finish her latest tirade before making his presence known.  She dismissed the staff person with a flick of her hand, shooing her away as if she were a dog.  Tristan took a step forward, keeping as much distance between them as was humanly possible.  

His mother barely acknowledged his presence before beginning to talk.  "Your father and I will be out of town this weekend."

He wasn't surprised by this revelation, for his parents were often disappearing on the weekends to one of more of their hideaways.  

"We expect you to be on your best behavior while we are gone."  Her reprimanding tone was almost as comical as the message she delivered.  His parents never cared what he did, and though she would never stoop to the level, he could almost imagine her wagging her finger at him like she would a little child.

"In spite of your behavior the past few weeks, we trust that you will not turn this house into the laughingstock of the neighborhood.  You will not have anyone in our house while we are not here."  She didn't have to explain any further.  He knew she was referring to Rory, as much as he knew it was useless for her to even bother.  He would like nothing more than to spite his parents and invite an entire throng of 'unapproved' guests to their house.  To traipse them over his mother's ornate carpeting, to parade them through the closed off rooms of the house even he was not privileged to see.  They need not worry about Rory however, for short of drugging and kidnapping, she wouldn't step a foot near him voluntarily.  

He had tuned her out by this point and words droned on and on as she enumerated the ways in which he was not to embarrass them.  She caught his attention moments later when she mentioned where they would be.  

"Don't think you can get away with anything either.  We will be in town for part of the weekend and we're not above dropping in to make sure our orders are followed."  

It occurred to him that his father hadn't even looked up from his reports, and yet she kept using the word 'we' as if they were a united effort in this manner.  His father usually left the disciplining to her anyway, because he didn't care enough to be bothered.

"We have to make an appearance at Chilton's Founder's Court festivities.  As a former Founder's Queen myself, I am expected to be in attendance at the alumni events."  Ordinarily he would have scoffed at her self righteousness, but what she had just said stopped all thought process in his head.

She was going to be there.  

He was dismissed before he had let it fully settle in.  His parents would be attending the same event he had voluntarily gotten himself into.  And he would be attending with the one person his parents had forbidden him to see.  He shook his head in defeat as he climbed the stares back to his solitude.  It had been a long day and he wasn't prepared to sort through what it all meant just yet.

He, his parents, and Rory, all in the same room together again.  It was going to be ugly.

Rory hung up the phone with an exaggerated sigh.  Her grandmother could be so irrational sometimes.  Every logical argument Rory raised as to why she shouldn't go with Tristan, her grandmother shot down and dismissed without further comment.  And Rory couldn't tell her the true reason she didn't want to go with him.  For in her grandmother's eyes, he was a saint swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress.  And nothing she said would convince her otherwise.

She curled her legs under her on the sofa, reaching for the remote to the television.  She was in the mood for a movie.  One that would take her to a fantasy land where all her problems melted into the darkness and her worries were tossed to the wind.  She no sooner had the remote in her hand than the telephone next to her rang out shrilly.  She prepared herself for a second round with her grandmother before calmly answering the phone.

"Do you have an escort for this weekend?", the voice on the other end bit out.  

She was a little taken aback.  "Paris?"

"No, it's the pope," Paris replied sarcastically.  "Do you have an escort?," she asked with more force.  

"How did you get this number?" Rory countered.

Paris let out an exasperated sigh.  "You're listed in the book.  Oh the wonders of technology, will they ever cease?" 

"Oh," was all Rory could reply.

"Either you're deaf or plain dense since I've had to ask 3 times.  Who is your escort?"

Rory evaded the question, not wanting to admit out loud that she was forced to take Tristan.  Not wanting to face the wrath of Paris when she found out.  "Why do you need to know?"

Paris was becoming obviously irritated with her by now.  "My mother is having placards made with each girl's name alongside her escort's."

"Couldn't she just put 'Rory Gilmore and guest'?"

"If you don't have an escort, just say so and I can get back to my studies and stop concerning myself with the everyday drama Rory Gilmore."

As much as she didn't want to, Rory knew that she had to fess up.  She took a deep breath before finally saying the two words.  "It's Tristan."

Rory fully expected another tirade from Paris, but she wasn't expecting the dead silence that she got.  Not certain what to say, she waited for it to begin.  But instead she was confronted with a soft clicking on the other end as one Paris Gellar, slowly and deliberately hung up on Rory Gilmore.


End file.
